(J 


SOUTHWESTERN  PENNSYLVANIA 


SONG  AND  STORY. 


WITH    NOTES    AND    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FRANK    COWAN. 

AUTHOR   OK   "CURIOUS   HISTORY   OF   INSECTS,"    "ZOMARA; 
A  ROMANCE  OF  SPAIN,"  »tc. 


WITH    AN    APPENDIX  : 

THE  BATTLE  BALLADS 

AND  OTHER  POEMS  OF 

SOUTHWESTERN     P  EN  N  S  YLV  A  NT  A  . 


GREENSUURG,     PA. 

PRINTED     BY     THE     AUTHOR. 

M  IMVCLXXVIIT. 


COPYRIGHT. 

FRANK  COWAN, 

1878. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 

ARTHUR  ST.  CLAIR : 

BY   WHOSK   LIFE, 
SOUTHWESTERN   PENNSYLVANIA 

HAS  BEET}  ASSOCIATED  WITH 
SCOTLAND,  ENGLAND,  AND  FRANCE; 

THE  SAVAGES  OF  AMERICA; 
THE  FILIBUSTERS  OF  VIRGINIA  ; 

THE  FORMATION  OF 
LOCAL,  STATE,  AND  NATIONAL  GOVERNMENTS: 

AND  THE  GREAT  MEN 
OF  AMERICA  FOR  HALF  A  CENTURY; 

AND  BY  WHOSE  DEATH, 
SOUTHWESTERN  PENNSYLVANIA 

WILL  BE  ASSOCIATED  WITH 
THE  INGRATITUDE  OF  REPUBLICS 

FOREVER, 

THIS  VOLUME  IS  INSCRIBED 
BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


973862 


PREFACE. 


As  a  botanist  might  regard  a  herbal  of  wild- 
flowers  from  Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  or  a 
lepidopterist  a  collection  of  butterflies  and  moths, 
seeing  in  the  plants  and  insects  an  organic  ex 
pression  of  their  environment,  the  soil,  the  strata 
of  rocks  outcropping  on  the  hillsides,  the  height 
of  the  mountains,  the  depth  of  the  valleys,  the 
rivers  and  marshes,  the  temperature  of  the  cli 
mate,  and  its  humidity ;  so,  it  is  trusted,  the  man 
of  letters  will  see  in  this  volume  an  ideal  express 
ion  of  the  same  region  through  the  medium  of 
humanity  —  an  evolution  of  the  soil  and  climate, 
the  flora  and  fauna,  the  people  and  their  history, 
into  Song  and  Story.  A  glance  at  the  Table  of 
Contents  will  disclose  in  detail  the  scope  and 
spirit  of  the  book  ;  while  an  introductory  para 
graph  to  each  poem  will  indicate  the  roots  by 
which  it  is  attached  to  the  soil,  and  through 
which  it  has  attained  its  growth. 


CONTENTS. 


PREHISTORIC. 

The  Last  of  The  Mammoths  9 

The  Book  of  Mormon  IT 

The  Redman's  Creed.  19 

The  Mountain  Stairway  3O 

UNDER  THE  CROWN  OF  FRANCE, 

1679  —  1758. 

The  Lilly  of  Prance  33 

Bold  Christopher  Gist  37 

Queen  Aliquippa 3O 

Port  Duquesne  31 

Liove  or  Liucre  34: 

The  Grave  of  .Tumoirville  35 

Port  Necessity  36 

Braddock's  Pield  36 

The  Grave  of  Braddock  43 

Diinliur  the  Tardy  4:3 

The  Myth  of  Braddock's  Gold  44 

A.  Licgend  of  Port  Duquesne  4:7 

Kittanning  53 

William   Pitt  54 

Christian  Frederick  Post    55 

Lioyalhaniia  58 

Port  Machault  59 

Guyasootha  60 

UNDER  THE  CROWN  OF  GREAT  BRITAIN, 

1758  —  1770. 

The  Piper   Lad  63 

The  Bird   of  Bouquet  64 

Meggie    Stinson  66 

The  Irish  Convict  67 

"Westmoreland  73 

The  Whipping  Post  73 

Prom  Post  to  Pillar  77 

Fort  Dunmore  78 

O  Wicked  Dr.  Connolly  79 

Logan  81 

The  Ducking  Stool 83 

Elizabeth  Smith  84 

UNDER  THE  FLA  G  OF  THE  UNITED  8TA  TES, 
1776  —  1878. 

American  Independence 86 

The  Scalp  Premium.  87 

Loe-hry's    Lament  88 


VI  CONTENTS. 


Leather  Breeches 9O 

The  Ominous   Fox  90 

Tlie  Mallet  of  Gnadeiihuetten  91 

Simon   Girty  to  Col.  Ciawford  at  the  Stake  93 

Sarah  Harrison 1OO 

Tlie  Heroine   of  Haiinastowii  101 

The  Fate  of  Marmle  103 

St.    Clair  104 

Tlie  Haunted    Man  110 

A  Tale  of  Tom  the    Tinker's  Time  113 

The  Spectre  Ship  of  Port  Pitt  137 

Prince  Gnllitziii 137 

Samuel  Brady  138 

George  Kapp  139 

Sam  Measoii,  the  Robl>er  140 

The  Honry  Old  Hero  of  Hell  141 

The  Salt,  Salt   Sea  16O 

The  Maid  and  the    Mirage  164 

The  Headless  Heart  17O 

King  (oik  and  Jim   Crow  193 

An  Epigram  19G 

The  Spectre  of  the  Biittonwood  197 

Ilr.  R.  M.  S.  Jackson  201 

Moll  Dell  2O1 

The  Witch  of  Westmoreland  303 

A  Toast  Jo  Woman  305 

The  Story  of  Poor  LittJe  Sue 206 

The  Jester  of  Old  King   Coal  313 

Stephen  Collins  Foster  235 

Science  and  Poesy  226 

The  Slave  of  the   Lamp  338 

MISCELLAFEO  US. 

Maid  of  Mahoiiing  331 

Indecision  232 

The  Dare-Devil  Yough  233 

Monongahela  334 

The  Jewels  I  Prize  335 

Love's  Holy  Grace  336 

Oh,  I  Would  Love  You  Alway  337 

The   Heart   Entomhed  337 

Loving    and  Longing  338 

The  Eye  and  the  Imagination  338 

An  Epigram  338 

The  Demon  Lover  339 

Graveyard  Grotesques  34O 

The   Poet  341 

A  Letter  to  a  Lady  343 

To   You,   Man  344 


CONTENTS.  Vll 


To 244 

Literary  Hermit  Crabs  245 

Astronomical  24:5 

A  Pourtli  of  July  Alternative  24:5 

Tlie  Last  Kiss  of  Love  246 

To 346 

On  a  Ringing  Bell  34:6 

Love's  Rule  of  Three  347 

Fate  a-fT 

To  a  Silk- Worm  34:8 

Her  Character  '.  34:8 

Katy-Did  24:8 

Despair  34:8 

Rhymes  and  Jingles  348 

Once,  and  Once  Only  349 

The  Voice  of  the  Anvil  250 

EVOLUTION, 

The  Legend  of  the  Weeping-Willow  350 

The  Love-lorn  Lady's  Lament  355 

The  Rebnke  of  the  Sage  356 

The  Two  Towers  256 

A  Centennial  Counterblast  369 

Chautauqua:    A  Song  of  Symbolism  373 

Niagara  384 

The    Fiddler    of  Time  285 

The  Last  Man  291 

Index  397 

APPENDIX. 


ERRATA: 


Page  168,  line  23,  for  "spirit  had  sped,"  read  "spirit 
that  sped." 

Page  204,  line  13,  for  "  kitten,"  read  "  kit." 

Page  236,  line  17,  for  "  pure  as  the  wave,"  read  "  pure 
be  the  wave." 

Page  241,  line  27,  for  "  lo,"  read  "  to." 

Page  286,  line  10,  for  "from  left  to  right/'  read  "to 
left  from  right." 


Credit  either  George  Farquhar  or  George  Barrington 
with  the  Tenth  line  of  "  The  Irish  Convict,"  on  page  68 ; 
Alexander  Pope  with  the  idea  involved  in  the  epigram 
on  "  Westmoreland "  on  page  72;  and  Lord  Littleton 
with  the  formula  of  the  second  epigram  on  "Inde 
cision  "  on  page  232. 


SO  UTH  WESTERN  PENNSTL  VAN1A 

IN 

SONG  AND  STORY. 


THE  LAST  OF  TR~E 


The  personages  of  the  prst',  ye'lor^rig  to  t 
toric  age  of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  are  the  Mam 
moth-hunter  and  the  Mound-builder.  Of  the  existence 
of  the  former  in  the  Little  World,  nothing  is  known ; 
and  of  the  latter  only  that  which  has  been  inferred  from 
his  works  found  here  as  elsewhere  in  the  valley  of  the 
Mississippi  —  of  whom  more  anon.  However,  it  is 
known  to  a  certainty,  that  before  the  extinction  of  the 
Mammoth  and  the  Mastodon,  a  savage  man  inhabited 
this  valley  and  destroyed  these  monstrous  animals  in  a 
mannef  similar  to  that  described  in  the  following  stan 
zas;  and  it  may  be  assumed  that  the  last  of  these  great 
elephants  was  killed  here  as  elsewhere,  since  their  re 
mains  have  been  discovered  in  this  locality  —  the  tooth 
of  a  Mammoth,  found  in  1875,  off  the  Point  in  the  City 
of  Pittsburgh,  (where  the  Allegheny  and  Monongahela 
rivers  unite  to  form  the  Ohio  —  or,  as  the  word  signi 
fies,  the  Bloody,  or  the  River  of  Blood,)  and  now  in 
the  possession  of  the  writer,  suggesting  the  theme  of 
the  following  poem. 

For  further  information,  necessary,  possibly,  to  an 
understanding  of  the  letter  of  the  poem,  the  reader,  pre 
sumed  to  be  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land,  is  referred 
to  the  notes  appended. 


Beneath  the  weight  of  the  new-fallen  snow, 
The  boughs  of  the  fir  tree  bent, 

A  savory  feast  *  to  the  monstrous  beast, 
That  through  the  forest  went. 

That  through  the  forest  went  alone, 
The  last  of  his  mighty  make, 

A  moving  mound  on  the  frozen  ground 
That  made  the  forest  quake. 


"10  THE  LAST  OF  THE  MAMMOTHS. 

His  legs  were  as  thick  as  the  bole  of  the  beech  7 
His  tusks  as  the  buttonwood  white, 

While  his  lithe  trunk  wound  like  a  sapling  around 
An  oak  in  the  whirlwind's  might. 

His  flapping  ears  fanned  the  snow  into  drifts 

Upon  his  wool-clad  back,f 
.fill  a  swaying  branch  an  avalanche 
''Swept  into  bis  pit-like  track. 

Swept  into  the  pit-like  track  that  marked 
,    i    'His  course  through  the  wild,  wild  wood 
That  folded  and  spread  over  each  water-shed 
In  the  forks  of  the  River  of  Blood. 

Swept  into  the  track  that  marked  his  course 

Along  the  rugged  ridge. 
Where,  striding  the  brook  in  its  natal  nook, 

He  avoided  the  river's  ice-bridge.    • 

He  avoided  the  river's  treacherous  bridge, 
With  a  cunning  care  and  great ;  J 

For  well,  I  wis,  he  knew  the  ice 

Would  break  beneath  his  weight. 

His  weight  that  made  the  forest  quake, 
As  he  strode  on  the  frozen  ground, 

Forsooth  to  browse  on  the  savory  boughs 
That  in  the  forest  abound. 

When  hark  !  the  Mammoth  held  a  bough, 

And  turned  a  listening  ear, 
To  the  distant  shout  of  the  rabble  and  rout 

That  gathered  in  his  rear. 

Was  it  the  caw  of  the  carrion  crow,  — 
The  grunt  of  the  hungry  bear,  — 

The  hoot  of  the  owl,  —  or  the  hideous  howl 
Of  the  wolf  on  the  heels  of  the  deer  ? 

The  Mammoth  turned  in  his  tracks  in  the  snow, 

And  looked  toward  the  east, 
When  behold  !  a  Man  stood  in  the  wild,  wild  wood, 

Before  the  monstrous  beast ! 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  MAMMOTHS.  11 

A  Man  —  G-od  wot,  but  a  molehill  in  bulk 

Beside  the  mountain  mass 
Of  flesh  and  blood,  that  swaying  stood 

Opposing  him  face  to  face  ! 

Antipodal  types,  yea,  stand  and  stare !  — 
In  your  opposite  forms  expressed 

The  First  and  the  Last  of  the  Future  and  Past, 
The  East  succeeding  the  West ! 

Yea,  stand  and  stare,  ye  antagonists 

In  your  bodies  from  your  birth, 
Till,  race  against  race,  ye  have  met  face  to  face. 

To  win  and  to  lose  the  Earth  ! 

Thou,  Mountain  of  Brawn,  with  thy  level  back,  — 
Thou,  Whirlwind  of  muscular  might,  — 

Thou,  Earth  involved  as  it  has  revolved 
In  space  to  left  from  right ! 

And  thou,  Molehill of  Brain,  with  tky  vertical  spine,  — 
Thou.  Zephyr  in  muscle  ingrown,  — 

Thou,  Earth  deftly  poled  as  around  it  has  rolled 
On  an  axis  up  and  down  ! 

Yea,  stand  and  stare,  for  never  before 
On  the  battle-ground  of  the  earth, 

Two  greater  foes  stood  to  maintain  with  their  blood 
Their  opposing  rights  in  their  birth ! 

Thou,  Mammoth,  prepare  for  the  conflict  at  once  : 
Set  before  thee  thy  terrible  teeth, 

And  upou  the  Man  rush, and  beneath  thy  weight  crush 
The  contemptible  pigmy  to  death  ! 

And  thou,  Man,  prepare  with  thy  cunning  and  care  : 
Take  into  thy  earth-freed  hand  || 

The  weapons  which  Thought for  thy  wants  ha3  wrought, 
The  spear  and  the  burning  brand ! 

When  behold  !  the  spear  and  the  brand  multiplied, 
Till  the  wild,  wild  wood  was  aglow 

With  the  glancing  gleams  and  the  bounding  beams 
Upon  the  new-fallen  snow  ! 


12  THE  LAST  OF  THE  MAMMOTHS. 

Now,  hark  !  to  the  shout  of  the  rabble  and  rout, 

That  gathered  in  the  east, 
And  the  track  pursued  thro'  the  wild,  wild  wood, 

Of  the  strange  and  monstrous  beast ! 

And  hark  !  to  the  roar  of  the  last  of  his  race. 

That  hushed  in  derision  the  shout. 
As  the  moving  mound  on  the  quaking  ground 

Divided  the  rabble  and  rout ! 

Divided  the  rabble  and  rout  right  and  left, 

With  an  irresistible  rush, 
Until  he  came  to  a  wall  of  flame 

On  a  feeble  foundation  of  brush  ! 

When,  before  the  apparition  of  Thought, 
Surmounting  the  burning  boughs, 

He  stood  :  For  the  moment  of  Life  had  come 
To  Think  above  the  To  Browse ! 

He  stood  —  and  though  but  a  moment  he  stood 

Confronted  by  Destiny, 
Yet  the  fire  burned  the  wool from  the  brow  of  hi9  skull, 

And  a  spear-point  went  into  his  eye. 

When  he  turned  and  fled  from  the  east  to  the  west, 

In  the  snow  thro'  the  wild,  wild  wood 
That  folded  and  spread  over  each  water-shed 
In  the  forks  of  the  River  of  Blood ! 

While,  upon  his  flanks,  the  divided  throng 
Closed  fast  with  a  phrenzied  zest, 

And  madly  pursued  the  beast  through  the  wood 
In  his  course  from  the  east  to  the  west  — 

Hurling  here  a  spear  and  there  zl  brand 

Against  the  monster's  side, 
Till  his  track  thro'  the  wood  to  the  River  of  Blood, 

With  his  trickling  blood  was  dyed. 

On on on on 

The  Mammoth  moved  without  rest. 

Striding  over  the  brook  in  its  natal  nook 
That  notched  the  wooded  crest. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  MAMMOTHS.  13 


On on on on 

The  Mammoth  kept  his  course, 
Pursued  behind  by  the  Man  of  Mind,  — 

Like  Matter  driven  by  Force. 

On on on on 

Until  he  trembling  stood 
On  the  crunching  edge  of  the  treacherous  bridge 

That  spans  the  River  of  Blood. 

Before  him  ice !  behind  him  fire  !  — 

Behold  the  bleeding  beast, 
Like  the  winter's  sun  that  in  red  has  run 

Its  course  from  the  burning  east ! 

When  —  Was  it  the  gleam  of  the  setting  sun 

That  flashed  across  the  sky  — 
Or  the  quivering  point  of  the  barb  of  flint  § 

In  the  monster's  bleeding  eye  ? 

The  Mammoth  turned  from  the  bridge  of  ice, 

And  faced  the  wall  of  fire, 
When,  roaring  with  pain  he  rushed  again 

Like  a  thunderbolt  of  ire  — 

Like  a  thunderbolt  of  ire  that  knew 

Existence  but  as  aim  — 
When,  behold  !  the  beast  is  striding  east 

Through  a  breach  in  the  wall  of  flame ! 

And  a  writhing  form  is  impaled  on  his  tusk, 

And  another  is  in  the  air, 
While  a  third  is  beneath  his  feet  in  death, 

Beside  a  broken  spear ! 

But  what  are  the  lives  of  a  score  in  the  throng 
Of  the  new-born  conquering  brood, 

That  rose  in  the  east  to  drive  the  beast 
Into  the  River  of  Blood  ? 

With  redoubled  zest,  they  ran  from  the  west, 
And  rekindled  the  terrible  brand,  — 

When,  again  face  to  face,  race  opposing  race, 
See  Man  and  Mammoth  stand  ! 


14  THE  LAST  OF  THE  MAMMOTHS. 

When  again  the  spear  is  hurled  at  an  eye 

With  an  unerring  aim  ; 
And  the  roaring  rush  is  checked  by  brush 

That  leaps  again  into  flame. 

A  blackened,  bristling,  bleeding  mass, 

Within  a  blazing  wood, 
The  Mammoth  turned ;  while  the  spear-shafts  burned 

To  their  barbs  in  his  flesh  and  blood. 

The  Mammoth  turned  and  fled  before 

The  fire  that  came  behind,  — 
As  ever  since  Man  and  the  world  began, 

The  Seeing  pursues  the  Blind. 

Till  again,  at  the  edge  of  the  treacherous  bridge. 

The  Mammoth  in  darkness  stood,  — 
While  the  lurid  light  of  the  brand  in  the  night 

Illumined  the  River  of  Blood  ! 

For  a  moment  stood  —  to  sensation  dead; 

When,  behold  !  he  silently  strode 
In  his  night  of  despair,  like  a  cloud  in  the  air, 

On  the  ice  of  the  Iliver  of  Blood ! 

And  the  ice  was  as  firm  beneath  his  feet 
As  the  ground  on  the  frozen  shore  — 

Will  he  pass  out  of  sight  in  the  darkness  of  night. 
And  be  seen  upon  earth  nevermore  ? 

Ah,  no  !  The  Mammoth's  pursuer  is  Man, 
That  knows  no  end  but  death  — 

But  to  feed  his  force  with  his  foeman's  corse, 
And  to  breathe  his  dying  breath. 

Upon  the  ice,  the  rabble  and  rout 

Surrounded  the  bleeding  beast 
With  a  wall  of  fire  that  rose  higher  and  higher 

As  the  fuel  was  increased  — 

Until  the  Mammoth,  concealed  in  the  flame 
That  girdled  the  spot  where  he  stood, 

With  a  deafening  crash  and  a  fire-quenching  splash, 
Sank  into  the  River  of  Blood ! 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  MAMMOTHS.  15 

Sank  into  the  River  of  Blood  —  of  Death  !  — 
That,  receiving  the  monstrous  corse, 

Upheaved  and  rocked  thrice  the  bridge  of  ice 
With  an  earthquake's  mighty  force  ! 

Sank  into  the  River  of  Blood  —  of  Time  !  — 
Aye,  that  was  the  crack  of  doom, 

That  crashing  roar  from  shore  to  shore, 
Above  the  Mammoth's  tomb  ! 

Aye,  that  crashing  roar  was  the  crack  of  doom, 

The  awful  and  the  dread, 
That  summoned  the  Last  of  the  forms  of  the  Past 

To  the  darkness  of  the  Dead  — 

Leaving  naught  behind  to  the  Man  of  Mind 

Remaining  in  the  wood 
That  folded  and  spread  over  each  water-shed 

In  the  forks  of  the  River  of  Blood  — 

But  a  vague  and  uncertain  reflection  —  a  myth  — 

Of  a  silent  cloud  that  passed 
Away  in  the  night  while  begirt  with  a  light 

That  concealed  while  revealing  the  Last. 

But  a  vague  and  uncertain  reflection  —  a  myth  — 

A  summer  evening's  dream, 
When  the  clouds of  the  sky  assume  shapes  to  the  eye, 

And  realities  are  not  but  seem,  ^f 

But  a  vague  and  uncertain  reflection  —  a  myth  — 
To  the  mind  of  the  wondering  youth, 

When  the  dredge  brings  up,in  its  deep-dipping  cup, 
A  strange  and  monstrous  tooth  — 

A  Mammoth's  tooth,  off  the  Pittsburgh  Point, 

In  the  eddying,  swirling  flood, 
Where  the  two  waters  meet  and  embracing  greet, 

As  one  in  the  River  of  Blood  — 

Like  Man,  the  river  that  rolls  from  the  North, 
From  a  head  with  an  icy  mouth  ;  ** 

Like  Woman,  the  flood  with  the  warmth of  her  blood, 
That  comes  from  a  heart  in  the  South  — ft 


16  THE  LAST  OF  THE  MAMMOTHS. 

Where  the  two  rivers  meet, and  like  man  and  wife  greet, 
In  the  flood  from  the  East  to  the  West, 

That  flows  on  forever  to  the  Gulf  of  the  Giver, 
And  the  Sea  of  Eternal  Rest. 

While  in  their  bed  are  laid  the  dead, 

Of  the  first  and  of  the  last, 
Who  have  swelled  the  flood  of  the  River  of  Blood, 

In  the  Mammoth  of  the  Past ! 


*  The  branches  of  the  fir,  and  other  resinous  trees, 
have  been  found  well  preserved  in  the  stomach  of  the 
Mastodon. 

f  The  covering  of  the  Mammoth  was  a  compound  of 
wool  and  hair,  long  and  thick,  sufficient  to  protect  it 
against  the  rigors  of  even  an  arctic  winter. 

I  The  "rugged  ridge,"  along  which  the  Mammoth  is 
said  to  have  kept  his  course  from  the  east  to  the  west, 
is  the  route  which,  in  1758,  was  taken  by  General 
Forbes,  and  in  1763,  by  Colonel  Bouquet  — the  "cunning 
care  and  great,"  ascribed  to  the  monstrous  beast,  being 
that  which  the  latter  asserted  and  maintained  in 
opposition  to  the  judgment  of  Washington,  who 
advocated  the  southern  or  Monongahela  route,  which, 
in  1755,  General  Braddock  had  pursued  —  to  the  River 
of  Blood  in  appalling  reality. 

||  In  the  struggle  for  existence,  the  advantage  to  Man 
in  his  earth-freed  hand  cannot  be  over-estimated.  The 
brand  — or  fire  in  its  myriad  forms  — is  the  most  for 
midable  weapon  Man  has  ever  wielded. 

g  Erroneously,  the  arrow-points  exhumed  in  Amer 
ica  are  said  to  be  of  flint  —  a  mineral  not  found  in  this 
country.  They  are  of  quartz,  in  its  several  forms  of 
chert  and  jasper  and  chalcedony. 

1f  The  myth  of  the  Redman,  with  respect  to  the  Mam 
moth  —  the  Big  Buffalo,  of  his  language  — is  given  as 
follows  by  Thomas  Jefferson,  in  his  Notes  on  Virginia: 

"A  delegation  of  warriors  from  the  Deleware  tribe 
visited  the  government  of  Virginia,  during  the  Revolu 
tion,  on  matters  of  business;  after  this  had  been  dis 
cussed,  and  settled  in  council,  the  governor  asked  some 
questions  relative  to  their  country,  and  among  others, 
what  they  knew  or  had  heard  of  the  animal  whose 
bones  were  found  at  the  licks  on  the  Ohio. 

"Theirchief  speaker  immediately  put  himself  intoan 
attitude  of  oratory,  and  with  a  pomp  suited  to  what  he 


THE    BOOK    OP    MORMON.  17 


conceived  the  elevation  of  his  subject,  informed  him 
that  it  was  a  tradition  handed  down  from  their  fathers, 
that  in  ancient  times  a  herd  of  these  tremendous  ani 
mals  came  to  the  Big-bone  lick,  and  began  an  universal 
destruction  of  the  bear,  deer,  elk,  buffaloes,  and  other 
animals  which  had  been  created  for  the  use  of  the  In 
dians.  And  that  the  Great  Man  above,  looking  down 
and  seeing  this,  was  so  enraged,  that  he  seized  his 
lightning,  descended  to  the  earth,  seated  himself  on  a 
neighboring  mountain,  on  a  certain  rock,  where  the 
print  of  his  feet  are  still  remaining,  from  whence  he 
hurled  his  bolts  among  them,  till  the  whole  herd  were 
slaughtered,  except  the  big  bull ;  who,  presenting  his 
forehead  to  the  shafts  shook  them  off  as  they  fell;  but 
at  length  one  of  them  missing  his  head  glanced  on  his 
side,  wounding  him  sufficiently  to  make  him  mad  ; 
whereon,  springing  round,  he  bounded  over  the  Ohio  at 
a  leap,  then  over  the  Wabash  at  another,  the  Illinois  at 
a  third,  and  at  a  fourth  leap  over  the  great  lakes,  where 
he  is  living  at  this  day." 

**  The  Allegheny  —  an  Indian  name,  the  significa 
tion  of  which  is  an  enigma.  In  the  opinion  of  many,  it 
means  the  Endless  River.  McCullough,  in  his  Narra 
tive,  says,  "it  signifies  an  impression  made  by  the  foot 
of  a  human  being,  for  said  they,  [the  Indians  among 
whom  he  was  a  captive.]  the  land  is  so  rich  about  it  that 
a  person  cannot  travel  through  the  lands  adjoining  it 
without  leaving  the  mark  of  his  feet." 

ft  The  Monongahela  — the  River  with  the  Falling- 
in-Banks  —  "Old  Muddy  Banks,"  in  the  parlance  of  the 
people  of  to-day. 


THE  BOOK  OF  MORMON. 


The  works  of  the  Mound-builders  in  Southwestern 
Pennsylvania  are  unimportant  in  comparison  with 
those  in  the  more  central  portions  of  the  valley  of  the 
Mississippi.  They  consist,  principally,  of  look-out 
mounds  commanding  river  views,  as  if  to  guard  against 
surprises  by  a  savage  foe  that  descended  the  streams  in 
fleets  of  canoes.  However,  there  is  a  peculiar  interest 
attached  to  the  works  of  these  mysterious  people  in  the 
Little  World,  from  the  fact  that  the  Reverend  Solomon 
Spaulding,  the  reputed  author  of  the  Book  of  Mormon  — 
the  Bible  of  the  Mormons, —  resided  here  during  the 
greater  part  of  the  time  that  he  was  engaged  in  its  com 
position  —  a  work  of  fiction  that  grew  out  of  his  study 


18  THE    BOOK    OF    MORMON".. 

of  the  mounds  and  other  earth-works  in  Northeastern 
Ohio  and  Southwestern  Pennsylvania.  The  residence 
of  Mr.  Spaulding  was  in  the  village  of  Amity,  Washing 
ton  county;  and  for  an  account  of  his  life  and  labor  an<< 
the  falling  of  his  MS.  into  the  hands  of  Sidney  Rigdon,  a 
printer,  in  Pittsburgh,  see  Dr.  Creigh's  History  of  Wash 
ington  county,  pp.  89-93. 


U  is  the  marvel  of  the  age  1  Here  lay 

The  works  of  thousands  long  since  dead  and  buried, 

The  Mound-builders  yclept,  in  glaring  text 

Stupendous,  that  ho  that  ran  might  read, 

And  read  aright,  more  readily  than  wrong.         * 

But  —  O  thou  mockery  of  wisdom's  self! 

This  second  Solomon,  Jew -spectacled, 

From  ponring  over  ancient  Hebrew  tomes, 

Perceived  naught  but  with  perverted  vision, 

And  saw  in  these  same  savages,  presto  1 

The  long  lost  tribe  of  Israel  !  and  wrote 

His  chronicles  accordingly  in  error  ! 

But  what  of  that,  compared  to  what  hath  followed  — 

Behold  !  a  second  Joseph*  into  being  came, 

A  dreamer  and  interpreter  of  dreams  ; 

And,  in  this  fiction  of  the  clergyman, 

He  read  the  word  of  Grod  proclaiming  him 

His  vicar  henceforth  unto  all  mankind. 

And  lo  !  before  the  boy  has  shorn  his  beard, 

That  was  but  mullein  down  when  Joseph  came, 

A  nation  in  the  wilderness  has  risen 

That,  with  the  sight  vouchsafed  with  zeal  to  sinners, 

Reads  in  this  book,  yclept  the  Book  of  Mormon, 

That  which  delights  them   most  °r  Hell  and  Heaven  ! 

For,  if  this  story  teaches  aught,  'tis  this : 

Man  reads  not  what's  without,  but  what's  \\ithin, 

Not  what's  before,  but  what's  behind  his  eyeball, 

Writ  in  the  red  ink  of  his  blood  and  being  ! 


*  Joseph  Smith,  the  founder  of  the  Mormon  Church, 
or  Church  of  Latter  Day  Saints,  born  at  Sharon,  Ver 
mont,  23rd  Dec.,  1805,  and  killed  at  Carthage,  Illinois, 
27th  June,  1844. 


THE  REDMAN'S  CREED. 


THE  REDMAN'S  CREED. 


The  successor  in  Southwestern  Pennsylvania  to  the 
Mammoth-rmnter  and  Mound-builder  was  the  Redman, 
or  Indian,  in  occupation,  on  the  entrance  or  intrusion 
•or"  the  Whiteman,  or  Pale- lace,  from  Europe,  with  his 
recording  pen,  marking  tire  beginning  of  the  Historic 
Period  of  the  Little  World.  Of  this  Redman,  alone,  or 
wnassoclated  with  the  White,  of  whom  libraries  have 
been  written  in  prose  and  poetry,  I  shall  give  only  two 
poems  in  this  book,  in  order  to  present  to  the  Reader 
the  opposite  Gods  of  the  Redman  with  which  the  stu 
dent  is  confronted  in  every  volume  which 'treats  of  the 
religious  beliefs  of  the  savages  of  America  — the  con 
crete  and  the  abstract,  the  material  and  the  spiritual. 
The  first  is  based  upon  the  remarks  or  two  of  the  most  ex 
traordinary  savages,  of  whom  there  is  any  record,  Te- 
cumseh  and  Black  Hawk  ;  the  second  is  purely  ficti 
tious,  illustrating  at  the  same  time  the  idea  of 
the  Manlto,  or  Great  Spirit,  of  the  Redman,  and 
the  peculiar  topography  of  the  mountain  Ridges 
of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania. 


The  suits  my  father,  and  the  earth,  my  mother  ! — 
Thus  spake  Tecumseh.*  in  his  savage  pride, 
But  with  a  sense  and  comprehension,  wide 
As  wisdom  yet.  within  the  brain  of  man, 
Has  compassed  in  his  being  an  external  plan  — 
A  sense   and  comprehension  growth -in  wrought 
Into  the  substance  of  his  life  and  thought, 
Until  he  lived,  in  brawn  and  brain,  as  one. 
In  fortitude,  the  Earth,  in  fire,  the  Sun  ! 

I  am  a  man,  and  you  are  but  another .'  — 

Thus  spake  the  chieftain  Black  Hawk,f  weakwith  age. 
And  worn  with  long  confinement  in  a  cage. 
Unto  his  captor  and  his  keeper  —  him 
Whom  millions  bowed  before  as  great  and  grim. 
The  Hero  of  New  Orleans,  in  the  tent, 
While  in  the  nation's  ball,  the  President ! 
He  was  a  man,  and  Jackson  but  another ; 
He  was  a  man.  and  Jackson  but  his  brother: 
Though  he,  an  aged  man,  in  chains  was  led, 
While  Jackson  stood  in  a  great  nation's  stead  ! 


20  THE   MOUNTAIN    STAIRWAY. 

The  suns  my  father,  and  the  earth  my  mother  ! 

I  am  a  man,  and  you  are  but  another  ! 

Such  was  the  Redman's  concrete  creed  and  code, 
That  made  him  Great,  without  an  abstract  God  ! 


*  At  an  interview  with  Governor  William  Harrison, 
at  Vincennes,  27  July,  1811. 

t  In  the  White  House,  at  Washington,  22  April,  1833, 
after  his  imprisonment  in  Fortress  Monroe. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  STAIRWAY. 


Crossing  the  several  ridges  of  the  Alleghanies,  from 
the  east  to  the  west,  on  the  turnpike  leading  from  Phil 
adelphia  to  Pittsburgh,  the  succession  is  as  follows  be 
yond  the  great  anticlinal,  the  Alleghany  Mountain 
proper:  Laurel  Hill,  Chestnut  Ridge,  Dry,  or  Randolph, 
Ridge,  and  Grapeville  Ridge.  Looking  eastward  from 
the  residence  of  the  writer,  on  a  spur  of  the  Grapeville 
Ridge,  the  crest  lines  of  these  mountains  are  seen  rising 
above  one  another —  great  steps  in  fact,  up  and  down 
which  it  is  easy  to  pass  in  fancy. 


Like  great  rough  and  shaggy  hemlocks, 

Of  decreasing  size  and  thickness, 

Lying  side  by  side  half  buried 

In  the  leaf-mould  of  the  ages 

Where  the  tempest  laid  them  prostrate, 

Are  the  mighty  mountain  ridges 

Of  the  Alleghanies,  looking 

Westward  to  the  verdant  valley 

Of  the  beautiful  Ohio  — 

•Of  the  Redman's  stream,  The  Bloody. 

Like  great  steps  by  which  the  mighty 
Manito*  descended  from  the 
Mountain  to  his  children  in  the 
Valley  of  the  Bloody  River ;  f 
Where  the  arrow  tipped  with  jasper 
Reddened  in  a  brother's  heart-blood, 
And  the  spear  of  chalcedony 
Quivered  in  a  sister's  bosom, 


THE    MOUNTAIN    STAIRWAY.  21 

And  the  tomahawk  or  feld  spar 

Cleft  the  skulls  of  sons  and  daughters,  — 

Till  the  noble  race  of  Redruen 

Lived  within  the  womb  of  woman 

Hid  in  terror  in  the  marshes  — 

Lived  alone  within  the  womb  of 

Woman  hid  within  the  marshes, 

Trembling  with  the  shaking  rushes, 

Shivering  in  the  chilly  nightwind, 

Feeding  upon  snakes  and  berries :  — 

When  the  Manito  —  the  Father 

Of  the  noble  race  of  Redmen  — 

Taking  by  the  hand  the  mother 

Hid  in  terror  in  the  marshes. 

Led  her  to  a  place  of  safety  — 

Up  the  mountain  steps  ascended 

Of  the  rough  and  shaggy  hemlocks. 

To  his  home  upon  the  summit 

Of  the  lofty  Alleghanies :  — 

There  to  bear  her  children  gladly, 

Breathing  life  with  the  Great  Spirit. 

In  the  fragrance  of  the  pine-tree ;  — 

There  to  rear  her  children  bravely, 

Wrestling  with  the  mighty  whirlwind, 

Shooting  arrows  with  the  lightning, 

Shouting  war-whoops  with  the  thunder, 

Giving  joy  unto  the  mighty 

Manito  upon  the  mountain,  — 

Till  he  laughed  above  the  thunder, 

Like  a  father  with  his  children ;  — 

There  to  speed  her  children  westward, 

Grown  to  be  brave  sons  and  daughters. 

Down  the  streamlets  in  their  birch-barks, 

To  the  river,  the  Ohio  — 

To  the  Redman's  stream,  The  Bloody  :  — 

Where  the  battle  raged  incessant 

In  the  struggle  for  existence ; 

Where  the  heart's  blood  flowed  like  water, 

Where  the  water  flowed  like  heart's  blood  ; 

Where  the  noble  race  of  Redmen 

Lived  alone  for  blood  and  slaughter. 


22  THE    MOUNTAIN    STAIRWAY 

Till  again  they  neared  destruction. 
And  the  mother  hid  in  terror, 
In  the  secret  fens  and  marshes, 
And  the  Manito,  descending 
By  the  rough  and  rugged  stairway, 
Of  the  ridges  laid  like  hemlocks. 
Took  her  to  a  place  of  safety 
In  his  home  upon  the  mountain  — 
Where  the  noble  race  of  Reduieu 
Live  alone  for  blood  and  slaughter, 
Till  again  they  near  destruction,     • 
And  the  mother  hides  in  terror 
In  the  secret  fens  and  marshes. 
When,  behold  !  a  pale  faced  brother 
Comes  instead  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
Down  the  great  steps  of  the  ridges 
To  the  valley  of  The  Bloody  - 
Reaching  far  into  the  marshes, 
Slaying  there  the  teeming  mothers 
With  the  unborn  generations 
Of  the  noble  race  of  Redmen  — 
Leaving  in  eternal  silence, 
The  Great  Spirit  of  the  Mountain, 
Father  of  the  race  of  Redmen, 
Mourning  for  his  murdered  children, 
W^bile  the  lightning  darts  unheeded. 
And  the  thunder  shouts  unanswered, 
Brooding  in  e'ernal  silence. 
Like  a  father  for  his  children. 


*  This  word  is  preserved  in  the  name  of  the  Cone- 
maugh,  below  the  confluence  of  the  Loyalhanna,  Kiski- 
minetas  —  the  name  of  an  old  town,  at  or  near  the  site 
of  Saltsburg,  thus  spelled  and  translated  by  McCul- 
lough,  the  Indian  captive, "  Kee-ak-kshee-man-nit-toos,  / 
which  signifies  Cut  Spirit:  "  which,  in  turn,  signifies,  as 
I  understand  it,  the  spirit  severed  from  the  body. 

f  I  take  it  the  Ohio  was  called  so  because,  in  the. 
struggle  for  existence,  it  was  the  scene  of  the  most  nota 
ble  conflicts  between  the  rival  races  of  savages  who  nav 
igated  it  in  their  bark  canoes,  thereby  becoming  asso 
ciated  with  the  flowing  of  blood— and  thence,  seeing 
the  without  from  within,  the  River  of  Blood. 


THE    LILY    OF    FRANCE.  23 


—  1749  — 

THE  LILY  OF  FRANCE. 


The  next  people,  after  the  Mammoth-hunters,  the 
Mound-builders,  and  the  Redmen  or  Indians,  who  as 
serted  and  maintained  the  domination  of  Southwestern 
Pennsylvania,  was  the  French,  which  they  did,  from  the 
discovery  of  the  Mississippi  in  1679  to  the  end  of  the 
Seven  Years' War  in  1763,  under  the  name  of  Louisiana,in 
honor  of  Louis  XIV.,  the  Grand  Monarch,  in  whose  reign 
the  valley  of  the  Mississippi  was  entered  and  appropri 
ated  —  and  under  the  name,  in  general,  of  New  France . 
"Not a  fountain  bubbled  on  the  west  of  the  Alleghanies, 
but  was  claimed  as  being  within  the  French  empire. 
Louisiana  stretched  to  the  head-springs  of  the  Alle 
gheny  and  the  Monongahela,  of  the  Kenawha  and  the 
Tennessee."  —  BANCROFT.  Curiously,  too,  the  first 
overt  act  of  war,  between  Great  Britain  and  France,  in 
the  Seven  Years'  War  —  a  conflict  in  which  the  four 
quarters  of  the  Big  World  were  embroiled  —  occurred  in 
the  Little :  at  the  Point,  where  the  City  of  Pittsburgh 
stands  now,  when  the  British  ensign,  Ward,  surrendered 
to  the  French  commander,  Contrecoeur,  }n  1751.  This 
war  terminated  in  America  most  disastrously  to  France, 
leaving  her  dispossessed  of  the  vast  territory  which  she 
held  at  the  beginning  —  the  valleys  of  the  St.  Lawrence, 
the  Great  Lakes,  and  the  Mississippi.  And  it  is  in  the 
light  of  this  possession  and  dispossession  at  the  instant 
the  new  empire  seemed  to  be  most  secure,  that  the  fol 
lowing  poem  is  to  be  read. 


Aye,  who  but  Jeanot,  in  the  drifting  batteau,* 
Blushes  scarlet  and  looks  askance, 

When  Duprey  fills  his  glass  and  bids  the  toast  pass  - 
"  To  the  King  and  the  Lily  of  France  !  " 

For  why,  Grod  wot,  in  a  twin  brother's  clothes, 
Deceiving  her  lover's  fond  eyes, 

Sits  Jeanette  as  Jeanot,  in  the  drifting  batteau, 
The  Lily  of  France  in  disguise  ! 

For  a  thousand  leagues  and  many  more, 

Across  the  salt,  salt  sea, 
She  has  fled  the  ire  of  a  thwarted  sire, 

With  her  own  true  lover  to  be  ! 


24  THE    LILY    OF   FRANCE, 

With  her  own  true  lover  to  be,  to  be, 

Come  weal  or  woe  unto  death, 
To  live  beneath  his  look,  and  to  breathe 

His  being  in  her  breath  I 

With  her  own  true  lover  to  be,  to  be, 

In  the  quivering,  heated  air, 
O'er  the  yawning  abyss  of  eternal  bliss, 

Suspended  by  a  hair  1 

With  her  own  true  lover  to  be,  to  be, 

Fulfilling  the  precious  part, 
Involved  in  the  birth  of  woman  on  earth, 

The  halidom  of  the  heart  ! 

Her  father  and  mother  forgotten  —  all 

The  joys  to  mortals  given, 
To  live,  alone  with  her  lover,  unknown, 

Like  a  star  by  day  in  heaven  ! 

Aye,  who  but  Jeanot,  in  the  drifting  batteau, 
Blushes  scarlet  and  looks  askance, 

When  Duprey  fills  his  glass  and  bids  the  toast  pass. 
"To  the  King  and  the  Lily  of  France  ! ;' 

•*0h,  wert  thou  thy  sister,  thou  flaxen-haired  boy," 

Duprey,  in  an  ecstasy  sighs, 
'•  This  world  would  I  give  one  moment  to  live 

In  the  love-light  of  thine  eyes !  " 

And  scarcely  the  word  is  spoken  and  heard, 
When,  winging  its  flight  o'er  the  flood, 

A  jasper-tipped  dart  soes  into  her  heart 
From  a  savage  foe  in  the  wood. 

Writh  a  hasty  hand  the  dart  is  withdrawn, 
When,  revealed  in  her  bosom's  charms, 

Ah,  what  doth  the  lover  in  anguish  discover 
But  the  Lily  of  France  in  his  arms ! 

0  Bliss  upon  Earth,  ever  in  the  grasp 

Of  pursuing  Ignorance, 
Until  Wisdom  at  last  dutches  firmly  and  fast  — 

A  corpse  in  the  Lily  of  France ! 


THE   LILY    OF   FRANCE.  25 

The  boat  is  shored  ;  the  mournful  crew 

Dig  deep  in  the  oozing  sand  ; 
The  rising  wave  conceals  the  grave 

From  living  eye  and  hand. 

And  the  boat  is  launched,  and  adown  the  stream 

The  merry  Frenchmen  go  — 
Jeanette,  a  jest  of  the  mottled  past, 

Duprey  —  none  cares  to  know  ! 

And  now  and  anon,  in  the  unknown  world, 
As  they  drifting  blindly  advance, 

They  themselves  possess  of  the  wilderness, 
In  the  name  of  the  Lily  of  France. 

Till,  having  seized  all,  a  victorious  crew, 
They  ascend  the  stream  to  its  source, 

When,  looking  back  upon  their  track, 

They  see  but  an  arrow-pierced  corse  ! 

The  arrow-pierced  corse  of  the  Lily  of  France, 
In  the  grave  by  the  rippling  flood 

Of  the  Beautiful  River,  that  flows  on  forever, 
The  Ohio  —  the  River  of  Blood  ! 

The  while  Duprey,  left  in  the  lurch, 

Pursues  a  lily-white  fawn,f 
That  turns  in  the  wood,  and,  with  eyes  of  blood. 

Still  beckons  hhn  on  and  on  — 

Till  fainting,  and  falling  in  the  wood, 

But  strength  enough  remains 
To  trace  upon  a  yielding  stone 

The  end  of  wordly  gains  — 

And  in  a  mass  of  plastic  clay, 

The  tablet  to  enclose, 
That,  in  a  hole  in  the  earth,  the  scroll 

For  ages  may  repose. J 

That,  when  to  dust  he  shall  have  gone, 

The  child  may  read,  in  fear, 
Of  the  beckoning  ghost,  of  the  loved  and  the  lost 

In  the  bloody-eyed,  lily-white  deer ! 


THE   LILY.  OF    FRANCE, 


While  the  bearded  sage,  with  ihe  wisdom  of  iiiie, 
May  see  in  the  scroll,  perchance, 

The  French  possessed  of  the  World  of  the  West  — 
In  the  grave  of  the  Lilv  of  France  111 


*  The  batteau  was  a  flat- bottomed  boat  propelled  by 
(Kirs,  or  allowed  to  drill  with  the  stream,  guided  by  si 
dipping  rudder  in  the  stern,  and  adapted  for  the  trans 
portation  of  cannon,  stores,  and  troops. 

f  A  tradition  is  preserved  among  the  descendants  ol 
the  first  settlers  of  the  valley  of  the  Allegheny,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Kittanning.  that  the  first  white  woman 
who  was  slain  by  the  Indians  became  a  white  deer  that 
haunted  the  wood  in  which  she  was  killed  for  many, 
many  years  —  until  the  wood  fell  before  the  ax  of  civil 
ization,  when  the  shadow  departed,  us  the  sunshine 
entered. 

|  A  few  \  ears  ago,  in  the  town  of  Alliance,  Ohio,  by 
some  persons  making  an  excavation  for  the  cellar  of  u 
house,  there  was  discovered  a  ball  of  clay,  about  the  size 
of  a  man's  head,  in  the  centre  of  which  was  a  slate 
stone,  on  which,  in  letters  evidently  scratched  in  with 
the  point  of  a  knife,  was  this  sorrowful  record:  "Lost  in 
the  woods  —  Starving  to  death  —  C.  I.  Hare  —  1776." 
The  ingenuity  involved  in  the  preservation  of  this  frail 
record  is  must  remarkable.  Compare  it  with  the  fol 
lowing. 

''  In  order  to  perfect  their  possession  of  the  great  val- 
ley  o:'  the  Mississippi,  the  French,  in  1740,  sent  out  an 
expedition,  commanded  by  Louis  Celeron,  to  deposit 
metal  plates,  reciting  in  French  their  possession,  at  the 
mouths  of  the  principal  tributaries '  of  the  streams 
which  they  descended,  the  Allegheny  and  the  Ohio. 
The  plato,  found  at  Venango  —  in  the  grave  of  the  Lily 
f>f  France, in  melancholy  reality  —  bears  the  following 
inscription  : 

LAI*.  1749.  DV  REGNE  1>E  LUVIS  XV  ROY  DE 
FitANOE  NOVS  CELERON  COMMANDANT  DVN 
DETACHMENT  ENVOIE  PAR  MONSIEUR  LE  M'lS 
DE  LA  GALLISSONIERE  COMMANDANT  GENER 
AL  DE  LA  NOUVELLE  FRANCE  POVR  RE  TABLIR 
LA  TRANQUILLITE  DANS  Q.VELQVES  VILLAGES 
S AUVAGES  DE  CES  CANTONS  AVONS  ENTERRE  CE 
PLAQFVE  AU  CONFLVENT  DEL'OHYO  ETDE  TOR- 
ADAKOJN  CE  29  JUILLET  PRES  DE  LA  RIVIERE 
OYO  AUTREMENT  BELLE  RIVIERE  POUR  MONU 
MENT  DE  RE  RKNOUVELLEMENTDE POSSESSION 


BOLD    CHRISTOPHER    GIST. 


NOVS  AVOXS  FRIS  DF  LA  DTTTE  RIVIERE 
OYOKT  DE  TOVTES  CELLES  QITI  Y  TOM  BENT  ET 
DE  TOVTES  LES  TERRES  DES  DEUX  COTES  JUS- 
QUE  AVX  SOVRCES  DKS  DITTES  RIVIERES  AINSI 
QVE'N  ONT  JOV  Y  OV  DV  JOVIR  LAES  PRECEDENTS 
ROIS  DE  FRANCE  ET  QUILS  SY  SONT  MAINTE- 
NUS  PAR  LES  ARMES  ET  PAR  LES  TRAITES 
vSPECIALMENT  PAR  CEVS  DE  RISWIOK 
D'VTRECHT  ET  D'AIX-LA-CHAPELLE, 


BOLD   CHRISTOPHER  GIST. 


With  the  advent  of  Captain  Christopher  Gist,  as  the 
yuide  of  Major  George  Washington,  on  his  mission  from 
•Governor  Dinwiddie,  of  Virginia,  to  Legardeur  de  St. 
Pierre,  the  commandant  of  the  French  fort  at  Veuango, 
fort  Machault,  the  strife  between  the  English  and  the 
French  for  the  possession  of  the  Little  World  of  South 
western  Pennsylvania  may  be  said  to  have  begun.  This 
was  in  the  year  1753.  Before  this  time,  however,  Gist, 
and  many  English  traders  had  been  in  this  country,  but 
it  fell  to  the  lot  of  George  Washington  to  be  the  first  per 
son  to  carry  the  authority  of  a  government  about  him 
—  a  distinction  thgt  marks  the  first  step  in  the  public 
career  of  this  extraordinary  man.  And  here,  in  pass 
ing,  it  may  be  said,  that,  although  Washington  was  not 
horn  in  Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  yet  the  country  is 
indebted  as  much  to  this  region  for  his  greatness  and 
distinction,  as  to  the  State  of  his  birth,  for  it  was  here 
that  he  was  instructed  in  the  art  of  war,  in  association 
with  the  greatest  generals  on  the  continent  at  the  time, 
Braddock,  Forbes,  and  Bouquet,  in  the  several  expedi 
tions  or  campaigns  which  bear  their  names  respectively. 
Gist  was  a  native  of  England.  His  cabin,  built  on  the 
tract  of  land  in  Fayette  county,  known  as  Mount  Brad- 
dock,  was  the  first  house  built  by  an  Englishman  west 
of  the  Alleghany  Mountains  on  laud  held  by  vir 
tue  of  English  warrant  and  authority. 


"No    path    hath    the    forest, 
Except    the    wide   swath 

Of    the    scythe    of    the    storm. 
Keenly    whet    in    its    wrath  ; 

And    the    track    of    the    wild-fire. 


28  BOLD   CHRISTOPHER  GIST. 


That    roars    through    the    heath, 
Leaving    all    in    its    wake 

Black    and   ghastly   in    death  " — 
"Aye,    truly;     but   yet, 

While    the    heavens   exist, 

I'll   go    where    I    list,'; 

Says    bold    Christopher   G-ist ! 

"The   heavens   are    hid 

By    the    o'er-reaching   rack, 

And    the   sun   and    the   stars 
Are    unseen    in    the    black : 

While    the    lightning   may    lead 
To    the    dread    precipice, 

And    leave    blindness   to    leap 
Into   aye    in    th'    abyss" — 

"Aye,    truly;    yet   ne'er 

Will    the    heavens    be    missed, 
While    the    vines*    westward   twist/ 
Says    bold    Christopher   Grist ! 

"The   mountains   are    many, 

And    rugged   and   steep ; 
The    rivers   are   rapid. 

Deceitful,    and   deep ; 
The    thickets    are    thorny, 

Entangled    and    tough ; 
The    rocks   are    relentless  — 

So    ragged    and    rough" — 
"  Aye,    truly,    they   are ; 

But   they   never   resist 

The   heart   in    my   chest," 

Says   bold    Christopher    Grist ! 

"The    panther    and    lynx 

Lurk    in    ambush    above ; 
The    bear    and    the    wolf 

In    the   underbrush   rove 
The    copperheadf   coils 

In    the    warm,    sunny   spot. 
While    the    oak-ivyj   poisons 

The   cool,   shady   grot" — 


BOLD    CHRISTOPHER    GIST. 

"Aye.    truly,    they   do; 

But    I    dread  —  save    me    Christ ! 
x  Alone    'Had    I    wist'  !  " 
Says    bold    Christopher    Gist ! 

"The   eye    of    the    savage 

Can    see    that    leaves    shake; 
The    ear    of    the    savage 

Can    hear    that    twigs    break  ; 
His    hand    and    his    hatchet 

Are    never    apart 
To    gorge    in    a    foe's    blood 

The  greed  of  his  heart " — 
*•  Aye,    truly ;     but    match    him, 

I    will  —  or    be    missed  ! 

So,    give    me   your    fist !  '" 

Says    bold    Christopher   Gist ! 

The    hard    hand    is    taken  — 

The    last    word    is   said ; 
The    continent    trembles 

Beneath    their    firm    tread ; 
For    with    them    the   armies 

Of  England    and    France 
To    the    River   of   Blood  — 

The    Ohio  —  advance, 
To    meet  —  And    what   followed 

Has    followed.    I    wist. 

George    Washington's    tryst 

With    bold    Christopher   Gist ! 


*  The  direction  of  the  windings  of  twining  plants  is, 
in  general,  with  the  sun,  from  right  to  left.  From  the 
growth  of  the  lichens  on  the  northwestern  sides  of  the 
trees,  the  points  of  the  compass  may  be  determined  also 
by  the  backwoodsman. 

t  The  copperhead,  Ancistrodon  contortrix,  is  as  vene- 
mous  as  the  more  celebrated  serpent  of  this  region,  the 
rattle  snake,  Crotahis  horridits ;  and,  in  general,  it  is  re 
garded  as  more  dangerous  from  the  fact  that  it  gives  no 
warning  before  it  strikes. 

J  This  plant,  RJms  toxicodendron,  v.  radicans,  with 
several  allied  species,  quite  common  in  Southwestern 


CO  QUEEN    ALIQUIPPA. 


Pennsylvania,  are  poisonous  not  only  to  the  taste  and 
touch,  but  they  even  taint  the  air  to  some  distance 
around  with  a  baneful  effluvium. 


Q  UEEX  ALIQ  U1PPA . 


In  the  Journal  of  George  Washington,  kept  while  on 
his  mission  from  the  Governor  of  Virginia  to  the  Com 
mandant  of  the  French  fort  at  Venango,  in  1753,  the  fol 
lowing  entry  occurs : 

"  As  we  intended  to  take  horses  here,  and  it  required 
some  time  to  find  them,  I  went  up  about  three  miles  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Youghiogheny  [the  site  of  McKees- 
port  at  present,]  to  visit  Queen  Aliquippa.  who  had  ex 
pressed  great  concern  that  we  passed  her  in  going  to  the 
fort.  I  made  her  a  present  of  a  watch-coat  and  a  bottle 
of  rum,  which  latter  was  thought  much  the  better 
present  of  the  two." 

Curiously,  too,  in  giving  this  bottle  of  rum  to  an  In 
dian,  the  future  Father  of  his  Country  violated  most 
flagrantly  two  several  laws  of  the  Province  of  Pennsyl 
vania,  which  declared  it  a  grave  offence  to  sell  or 
give  liquor  of  any  kind  to  the  Indians  —  particu 
larly  on  the  border,  and  by  the  inconsiderate  strag 
glers  from  Virginia! 


There's  witchery  in  every  word 
That's  spokeu  once  and  thrice  is  heard  : 
Within  the  ear,  an  empty  sound ; 
Within  the  brain,  a  thought  profound ; 
Within  the  heart,  a  throe  or  thrill 
Responsive  to  its  woe  or  weal. 
For  from  the  heart,  the  growth-floods  go 
Back  to  the  brain  and  ear,  till  lo  ! 
The  brain  thinks  and  the  ear  and  eye 
Perceive  naught  but  in  plantasy. 
Hear  thrice  the  name  to  mortal  given, 
And  make  of  earth  a  hell  or  heaven  ! 

Queen  Aliquippa,  once,  twice,  thrice  ! 
And  lo !  the  world  is  steeped  iu  vice. 
Until  the  senses  sluggish  swim 


FORT  DUQUESNE.  31 


In  a  delirious  drunken  dream, 
And  woman  welcomes  all  that  come 
With  vice's  coin  a  flask  of  Rum  ! 


—  1754- 

FORT  DUQUESNE. 


The  surrender  of  Ensign  Ward  to  the  French  com 
mandant,  Contrecoeur,  on  the  17th  of  April,  1754  —  re 
ferred  to  in  the  introduction  to  the  Lily  of  France,  as 
the  first  overt  act  in  the  Seven  Years'  War  — was  fol 
lowed  immediately  by  the  construction  of  a  fort,  in  the 
forks  of  the  Ohio,  which  was  called  Fort  Duquesne,  after 
the  Governor  of  Canada,  the  Marquis  Du  Quesne  de 
Meuneville.  This  celebrated  fort  formed  a  link  in  the 
chain  by  which  the  French  united  their  vast  possessions 
in  America  —  the  territory  drained  by  the  St.  Lawrence 
and  the  Mississippi.  In  1858,  in  the  fifth  year  after  its 
construction,  it  was  blown  up  to  prevent  its  fall 
ing  into  the  hands  of  the  British  army,  under  the 
command  of  the  Head  of  Iron,  General  John  Forbes. 
The  site  of  the  fort  is  within  the  limits  of  the  City 
of  Pittsburgh  of  to-day. 

There  is  a  secret  rea.son  assigned  for  the  construc 
tion  of  Fort  Duquesne  which  may  be  repeated  here,  if, 
for  no  other  reason,  than  to  make  human  and  quick 
with  life  the  dead  and  buried  past  of  a  century  and  a 
quarter  ago,  to  wit : 

"  The  private  scandal  of  the  place  and  period  attrib 
uted  the  building  of  these  establishments  [the  forts  on 
i Me  Allegheny  and  at  the  forks  of  the  Ohio,]  and  their 
dark  train  of  consequent  calamities  to  the  same  cause 
a.s  had  since  long  before  the  day  of  Helen  of  Troy,  ac 
cording  to  Flaccus,  brought  about  the  waste  of  human 
life  and  the  overthrow  of  mighty  empires.  M.  Pouchot, 
an  officer  of  rank  in  Canada,  does  not  scruple  to  insinu 
ate  that  the  new  governor,  [M.  de  Duquesne,]  shortly  af 
ter  his  arrival  in  Quebec,  became  involved  in  an  in 
trigue  with  a  beautiful  woman,  the  wife  of  a  resident  of 
that  place.  M.  Bigot,  who  had  recently  passed  from  the 
Intendancy  of  Louisbourg  to  that  of  Canada,  had  in  like 
manner  contracted  a  liaison  with  a  Madame  P6an,  the 
wife  of  the  aide-major  of  the  city.  Bigot  being  thus  at 
*he  head  of  the  commissary  department  of  the  colony, 
it  was  an  easy  affair  for  the  Governor  and  himself  to  ar 
range  a  plan  Dy  which  the  willing  husbands  of  the 


32  FORT   DUQUESNE. 


ladies  in  question  should  be  detached  from  an  incon 
venient  vicinity  to  their  partners.  Accordingly,  it  was 
decided  to  give  them  lucrative  employments  in  an  ex 
pedition  which,  it  was  gravely  whispered,  was  concoct 
ed  for  the  express  purpose  of  placing  these  gentlemen  at 
a  considerable  distance  from  home  ;  and  to  Pean  wa.s 
assigned  the  command  of  the  forces  which  were  marched 
in  l~y>.  The  forts  then  built  were  furnished  with  nu 
merous  and  expensive  magazines  of  merchandise  and 
provisions;  a  precaution  necessary  enough  under  the 
circumstances  of  their  position,  but  which,  in  the  man 
ner  in  which  the  business  was  managed,  must  have  af 
forded  endless  opportunities  for  the  acquirement  of  ill- 
gotten  gains.  Together  with  the  proper  provisions  and 
stores,  all  sorts  of  goods,  always  expensive,  but  here  ut 
terly  useless,  were  purchased  in  the  name  of  Louis  XV., 
and  sent,  for  his  service,  into  the  wilderness.  Stuffs  of 
silk  and  velvet,  ladies"  slippers  and  damask  shoes,  silk 
stockings,  and  the  costly  wines  of  Spain,  figure  largely 
in  the  category,  and  enable  us  to  conceive  how  it  came 
about  that  the  French  colonies  cost  the  nation  so  much 
and  returned  it  so  little.  *  *  *  It  may  be  true  enough 
that  the  husband  of  each  fair  Evadne  was  named  to  a 
high  command  in  the  new  expedition,  but  nothing  can 
be  more  absurd  than  to  imagine  that  to  procure  theirab- 
*ence  was  the  primary  motive  to  its  undertaking."— 
Sargent,  citing  J/.  Pouchot. 

In  the  light  of  which,  the  following  may  not  prove 
unacceptable. 


••Come  hither,  come  hither,  my  little  foot-page, 

And  rede  this  riddle  to  me, 
And  what  I  have  that  thou  mayest  crave, 

That  will  I  give  to  thee. 

"I  love  the  wife  of  a  merchantman, 

And  dearly  she  loves  me  ; 
But  in  vain  we  yearn  till  our  vitals  burn. 

All   for    his    jealousie. ' 

Oh,  never  a  word  the  foot-page  heard, 

A  word  but  barely  three, 
But  he  turned  him  around  upon  the  ground, 

And  a  loud,  loud  laugh  laughed  he. 


FORT   DUQUESNE.  33 


"  My  lord,"  quo'  he;  "let  us  build  a  fort 

Afar  in  the  wild  couutrie, 
For  the  glory  of  France,  and  the  husband  advance, 

Our  sutler  there  to  be. 

••  And  what  thou  hast  to  be  possessed 

By  thy  little  foot-page  in  fee  — 
To  the  lock  that  turned  when  you  sometime  burned, 

I  crave  the  rusty  key  !  " 

With  a  Vive  le  Hoy !  and  a  Vive  la  France  ! 

That  echoed  from  sea  to  sea, 
A  fort  in  the  wood,  on  the  River  of  Blood, 

Was  built  right  speedilie  ! 

The  while,  my  lord  and  the  sutler's  wife 
Were  as  happy  as  happy  could  be, 

Their  midnights  of  bliss  being  turned  in  a  kiss  — 
While  the  foot-page  brightened  the  key. 

But  the  hottest  love  will  cool  apace 

With    its   satietie ; 
With  state  cares  oppressed,  my  lord  could  not  rest  — 

And  rusty  again  grew  the  key. 

•'  Come  hither,  come  hither,  my  little  foot-page, 

And  rede  this  riddle  to  me, 
And  what  I  may  that  thou  canst  say, 

That  will  I  do  for  thee. 

•'  I  loathe  the  wife  of  the  merchantman, 
And  I  doubt  not  she  loathes  me ; 

But  —  the  devil  take  her,  as  ever  to  make  her 
He  was  devil  enough  to  be !  " 

Oh,  never  a  word  the  foot-page  heard, 

A  word  but  barely  three, 
But  he  turned  him  around  upon  the  ground, 

And  a  loud,  loud  laugh  laughed  he. 

;'My  lord,''  quo'  he ;  'Met  us  blow  up  the  fort 

Afar  in  the  wild  countrie ; 
Recall  the  French  ;  our  expenses  retrench  ; 

And  chaste  and  happy  be  ! 


34  LOVE    OR    LUCRE. 

••  And  what  thou  mayest  that  I  can  say, 

That  wilt  thou  do  for  me  — 
I  pray  thee,  my  lord,  be  as  good  as  thy  word, 

And  take  back  this  rusty  key  1"' 

The  magazine  of  Fort  Duquesoe 

Was    fired    speedilie  , 
My  lord  Duquesne  was  himself  again, 

And  bright  greiv  the  Hale  steel  key. 


—  1751  — 

LOVE   OR  LUCRE, 


Another  reason  has  been  assigned,  by  the  grave  hjs- 
forian,  for  the  construction  of  Fort  Duquesne  and  the 
breaking  out  at  the  head  of  the  Ohio  of  the  conflict  be 
tween  England  and  France  which  extended  into  the 
world-wide  Seven  Years'  War,  namely,  the  fur-trade  of 
the  Ohio,  which,  at  the  time  it  was  lost  to  the  British  by 
the  surrender  of  Washington,  at  Fort  Necessity,  3rd 
July,  17oi,  was  valued  at  no  less  than  t"lu,iX)0  a  year;  and 
it  was  then  in  its  infancy.  The  privation  of  such  aprofit, 
Sargent  remarks,  not  less  than  the  manner  in  which  it 
was  lost,  wa^  calculated  eminently  to  excite  indigna 
tion  ;  and  ample  details  of  the  whole,  forwarded  to  Lon 
don,  by  Governor  Dinwiddie  and  others,  brought  about 
the  inception  of  those  vigorous  measures  which  resulted 
In  the  expedition  of  Braddock  and  its  train  of  disas 
trous  consequences  to  all  engaged.  "  Pardieu,  Mes 
sieurs,"  said  the  young  Comte  d'Estaing  to  the  English 
courtiers,  who  had  expressed  their  displeasure  and  ill- 
humor  at  the  loss  of  this  lucrative  trade,  "ce  seroit  bien 
ridicule,  de  fa  ire  casser  la  tete  a  dix  milles  homines 
pour  quelques  douzaines  de  chapeaux!"  Accord 
ingly,  a  contrast  between  the  fur-trade  on  the  one 
hand  and  the  intrigues  of  Duquesne  and  Bigot  on 
the  other,  is  inevitable. 


What  opposite  causes  historians  state 
Have  produced  the  great  wars  Mhi"h  their  pages  relate  ! 
Thus  the  Sev.-n  Years'  War  has,  in  whole  or  in  part, 
A  hat  for  the  head  and  a  huir  for  the  heart ! 


THE    GRAVE    OF    JUMONVILLE.  35 


—  1751  — 

THE  GRA  YE  OF  JUMONVILLE. 


The  blood  of  M.  de  Jumonville  was  the  first  to  be 
>^hed  in  the  Seven  Years'  War,  a  conflict  that  extended 
into  every  quarter  of  the  globe.  This  unfortunate 
Frenchman  was  in  command  of  a  detachment  of  thirty- 
flve  men,  from  the  fort  a  few  weeks  hence  to  be  called 
Fort  Duquesne;  and,  in  a  night  attack  made  upon  his 
encampment  by  a  company  of  Virginians,  under  the 
command  of  Washington,  he,  with  several  of  his  men, 
was  slain  —  May  28th,  l~~)L  His  grave,  where  lie  fell,  in 
a  wild  and  romantic  place  on  the  summit  of  the  Chest 
nut  Ridge,  known  as  Jumonville's  Camp,  in  Fayette 
county,  is  marked  with  a  slab  and  inscription;  and  near 
by  there  issue  several  springs  the  waters  of  which  flow 
tu  the  ocean,  and  of  which  any  may  be  in  fact  that 
which  is  represented  in  the  following  lines  in  fancy. 

An  extract  from  the  poem,  in  four  cantos,  entitled 
"Jumonville,"  written  by  M.  Thomas,  a  member  of  the 
French  Academy,  and  published  in  1759,  is  given  in 
the  Appendix  to  this  volume,  q.  v. 


Upon  a  mountain's  height,  there  is  a  spring, 
From  which,  in  a  continuous  course  and  long, 
The  waters,  in  a  rill,  no  stronger  than 
The  little  stream  that  issues  from  the  heart, 
Flow  on  and  on  unto  the  sea,  and  thence 
Around  about  the  great  air-girdled  globe, 
Until  the  world  is  washed  in  the  pure  flood, 
That  rises,  when  its  work  is  done  on  earth. 
To  gleam  an  arch  of  glory  in  high  heaven  ! 

Upon  this  mountain's  height,  there  is  a  heart, 
From  which,  in  a  continuous  course  and  long, 
The  red  blood,  in  a  rill,  no  stronger  than 
The  little  stream  that  issues  from  the  spring, 
Flows  on  and  on  unto  the  sea  of  war, 
And  thence' about  the  great  air-girdled  globe. 
Until  the  world  is  foul  with  human  blood, 
That  sinks  beneath  the  slain  into  the  earth 
To  glare  a  red  flame  in  the  fires  of  hell ! 


30      FORT  NECESSITY  —  BRADDOCK's  FIELD. 

Thus  side  by  side,  there  are  on  every  height 

Two  streams  that  issue,  as  two  equal  rills. 

And  flow  unto  the  sea  and  thence  around 

About  the  great  air-girdled  globe,  until, 

Look  where  or  when  you  will,  and,  Christ  behold  ! 

The  arch  of  heaven  is  revealed  alone 

In  a  reflection  of  the  fires  of  hell ! 


—  1754  — 

FORT  NECESSITY. 


The  next  step  in  the  progress  of  the  war  between 
France  and  England,  was  the  surrender  of  Major  Wash 
ington,  at  Fort  Xecessity,  July  3rd,  1754,  to  the  brother 
of  Jumonville,  the  fiery  Coulon-Villiers,  or,  as  he  was 
known  for  his  prowess,  Le  Grand  Villiers.  In  the  his 
tory  of  Washington,  this  event  is  remarkable  for  two 
reasons:  it  was  his  first  and  last  surrender;  and  it 
taught  him  never  to  sign  a  paper  of  the  signification  of 
which  he  was  ignorant,  that  he  might,  not  confess  a  sec 
ond  time  to  the  "  assassination  "  of  Jumonville. 

The  outlines  of  this  fort  may  be  traced  at  the  present 
day,  at  the  Great  Meadows,  in  Fayette  county. 


In  Fort  Necessity  —  well  chosen  word  !  — 
The  bravest  of  the  brave  gives  up  his  sword : 
To  yield  again,  but  with  his  parting  breath. 
In  Fort  Necessity  once  more,  to  Death. 


—  1755  — 

BRADDOCK'S  FIELD. 


The  next  event  in  the  history  of  Southwestern  Penn 
sylvania,  to  be  referred  to  in  this  volume,  is  the  expedi 
tion,  under  the  command  of  Major  General  Edward 
Braddock,  in  1755,  for  the  reduction  of  Fort  Duquesne, 
and  the  ever  memorable  defeat  of  the  English  army  on 
the  9th  of  July,  at  a  fording  of  the  Monongahela,  nine 
miles  from  its  destination.  In  the  annals  of  America, 
this  battle  stands  perhaps  unparalleled  for  slaughter. 
The  English  army,  with  a  loss  in  killed  and  wounded  of 
more  than  two-thirds,  and  the  remainder  routed  in  a 


BRADDOCK'S  FIELD.  37 

wilderness,  virtually  was  annihilated.  The  expedition 
xntl  the  battle,  however,  require  a  volume  rather  than  a 
prologue  to  a  poem  for  their  presentation. 

The  scene  of  this  memorable  conflict  presents  one  of 
the  most  remarkable  industrial  expositions  to  be  found 
on  the  continent.  From  the  bluff  overlooking  the  val 
ley,  are  to  be  seen  in  one  view  three  several  lines  of  rail 
way,  with  trestle-work,  river  bridge,  and  tunnel  ;  the 
Monongahela  river,  with  lock  and  dam,  steamboats, 
•coal-fleets,  rafts,  etc. ;  on  thejiillsides,  the  mouths  of  the 
coal-pits,  and,  descending  the  steeps  to  the  tipples  at  the 
water's  edge,  the  railway  inclines;  in  the  valley,  the 
magnificent  plant,  of  the  Edgar  Thomson  Steel  Works-, 
and  besides  the  varied  works  of  the  industrial  town  of 
Braddock  near  by  —  the  only  monument  to  the  memo 
ry  of  the  ill-starred  British  general.  The  observer  of  the 
scene  cannot  refrain  from  contrasting  it  with  that  of 
the  9th  of  July,  1755. 


Where  the  oak.  with  the  weight  and  the   weak 
ness  of  age, 
With  a  thunder-crash  fell  in  its  struggle   with 

death, 
While  the  storm  and  the  wild-fire  lay  crouching 

to  rage, 
And    the    forest    primeval    in    awe    held    its 

breath  ;  * 
There  the  apple-tree  stands  with  a    low    bending 

bough, 
That  the  school  boy  on  tiptoe  may  pluck  the 

red  fruit, 

To  sit,  with  closed  book,  and  eat,  wondering  how 
The   red   blood   of   Braddock   has  come  from 
the  root. 

Where  the   proud   army    waded    the    broad    rip 
pling  river, 

At  the  mid-summer  ford  on  the  soft  sandy  bar, 
While  the  flattering  flood,  with  its  glitter  and 

quiver,  f 

Redoubled  their  strength  and  the  glories  of  war  ; 
There  the  staunch   steamboat  flies   in   the   dam- 
deepened  pool, 


BRADDOCK  S    FIELD. 


Overstepped  by  the  stride  of   a  great   railroad 

bridge, 
Where    the   fisher-boy   sits    and    calls    Braddock 

a  fool 
For  keeping  the  river  and  leaving  the  ridge.  £ 

Where   the  jaded   hacks  ||   strained   in   the   soft, 

yielding  mud, 
And  down  the  steep  bank  backward  tumbled 

and  rolled, 
While   dragging   the    wagons    of    war   from    the 

flood  — 

The  cannon-balls,  powder,  provisions,  and  gold  ;§ 
There  the  great  irori-horse  speeds  by  day  and  by 

Right, 

In  defiance  of  burden,  resistance,  and  strain  ; 
While  the  train-boy  looks  out,  to  reflect  in   his 

flight, 

What !    if    Braddock    had    taken    the    cars   to 
Duquesne  ! 

Where  the  suns  of  the  foe  were  revealed  by  a 

flash  — 
A  report  —  and  the  fall  of  the  killed  and  the 

wounded, 
Till    the    woods    were    ablaze,    and    a    deafening 

crash 

With  the  wail  of  the  wounded  and  dying  re 
sounded  ; 

There  the  ingot  aglow  is  drawn  out  to  a  rail, 
While  the    cotfee-mill    crusher    bombs,  rattles, 

and  groans, 

And  the  water-V>oy  hurries  along  with  his  pail, 
Saying,  Braddock  be  blowed  !  he's  a  slouch  to 
Bill  Jones  \J 

Where  the  cannon  of  Braddock  were  wheeled  in 
to  line, 
And  swept  through   the  forest  with  shot  and 

with  shell  — 
But  woe  to  the  Briton  !  in  vain  they  combine 


BRADDOCK'S  FIELD.  39 


The    thunder    of    heaven     and    the    lightning 

of  hell ! 
There  the  turning  converter,  while   roaring  with 

flame, 
Pours  out  cascades  of  comets  and   showers  of 

stars, 
While    the   pulpit-boy,    goggled,  looks    into    the 

same  — 

Thinking  little  of    Braddock  and  nothing   of 
Mars. 

Where  the  womb   of   the  earth   opened,  teeming 

with  life, 

When  the  Redmen,  begrimed  with  their  pow 
der  and  paint, 
Their-  guns  laid  aside  for  the  hatchet  and  knife, 

Victorious  rushed  on  the  dying  and  faint ! 
There  the  coal-cavern  yawns  on  the  sloping  hill 
side, 
And  the  miner   begrimed   with   the  coal-dust 

and  soot, 

His  barrow  and  pick  and  his  lamp  laid  aside, 
Comes  out  of  the  pit  his  employer  to  shoot ! 

Where  the  whoop  and  the  shout  of  the  Redmen 

and  French         „ 
Resounded    exultant   and    wild    through    the 

wood, 
From    the  gully   which   formed    their    invisible 

trench. 
To  the  great  river  turbid  with  mud  and   with 

blood ; 
There  the  "  Gospel  of  Peace  and  Good   Will  to 

Mankind," 
Is  preached  in  the  pulpit  and   practiced  —  I 

pass ; 
While  the  valley  resounds   with   "Umbrellas  to 

Mend  !  " 

"Potatoes  !  "  "Old  Clo'es  !  "  "I  am  blind  !  " 
"Milk!  "and  "Glass!" 


40  SHADDOCK'S  FIELD. 


Where  the  bears**  with  the  flesh  of  the  Halkets 

were  full. 

\Vhile  the  wolves  in  their  wrangling  rent  Shir 
ley  in  twain  ; 
Where  the  crows  pecked  the  eyes   out   of    Spen- 

delow's  skull, 

And    the  maggots   waxed   rounded   in    Hamil 
ton's  brain  ; 
There  the  churchman  partakes  of   the  sanctified 

bread. 
And  his  son  devours   melons   in   spite   of    the 

cramp, 
While  his  daughter   at    ten   takes   her   breakfast. 

in  bed, 

And    his  dog   at    the   gate    tries   the   leg  of  a 
tramp  ! 

Where    the    bones    of    the    Britons    from    white 

turned  to  brown, 
As  they   lay   in    the   shade   of    the   forest   for 

years, 

Unburied,  unknown  —  till  his  sire  to  a  son, 
By   the   gold    in    the   tooth    of    a    bared    skull 

appears  Iff 
There  the  bones  of  the  dead  —  of  the  high  and 

the  low, 

In  ground  consecrated  are  buried  in  state  — 
Crape,  carriages,  silver  —  a  service  —  a  show  !  — 
Till  the  school-girl  inters  in  a  cheese-box  her 
cat! 

Where  the  battle  of  Braddock  was  fought  in  the 
wood, 

Till  .the  bullet  of  Fawcett  JJ  revengefully  sped, 
To  dip  in  the  proud,  haughty  general's  blood, 

And  number  him  first  in  the  list  of  the  dead  ; 
There  nothing  remains  to  remind  of  the  same, 

But  an  oxidized  bullet  dug  up  by  a  clown, 
The  oak  where  the   Halkets  fell  —  that  and   a 
Name 

To  mock  at  the  muse  in  the  toil  of  a  town  ! 


BRADDOCK'S  FIELD.  41 

To  mock  at  the  muse  in  the  toil  of  a  town  ? 

Nay  ;  but  for  a  moment,  and  then  to  inspire  — 
To  cleanse  of  the  concrete,  like  time  and  renown, 

And  brighten  the  abstract  in  poesie's  fire ; 
Till  the  Battle  of  Braldock's  the  Battle  of  Life, 

And  the  conflict  of  yore  is  repeated  to-day  — 
Or  continued  the  same  in  the  spirit  of  strife, 

With   alone   the   form   changed   of    the    battle 
array. 

Every  Heart  is  a  Braddock  at  war  in  a  thicket, 

Beset  with  invisible  Redmen  and  French, 
Awaiting  the  time  when  recalled  is  the  picket 

And  Error  and  Pride  stumble  into  the  trench  ; 
Every    Heart    is    a    Halket  —  both    father    and 

son  — 
In  an  army  where    Chance   utters    Braddoek's 

command, 
Till  the  Fawcett  of  Fate  comes  behind  with    his 

gun, 
And  a  tooth  in  a  skull  tells  alone  of  The  End  ! 


*  A  startling  phenomenon  of  the  forest  is  the  falling, 
when  the  air  is  still,  of  a  great  oak  that  has  withstood 
the  storms  of  centuries.  It  is  a  token  of  the  approach 
of  a  storm.  As  the  air  lightens,  the  impalpable  but 
none  the  less  potent  props,  by  which  the  tree  is  sup 
ported,  are  removed,  and  the  tree  falls,  accordingly, 
crushed  by  its  own  weight. 

t  In  after  life,  Washington  was  accustomed  to  ob 
serve  that  he  had  never  seen  elsewhere  so  beautiful  a 
sight  as  was  exhibited  during  this  passage  of  the  Mo- 
nongahela.  Every  man  was  attired  in  his  best  uniform  ; 
the  burnished  arms  shone  bright  as  silver  in  the  glis 
tening  rays  of  the  noonday  sun,  as,  with  colors  waving 
proudly  above  their  heads,  and  amid  inspiring  bursts  of 
martial  music,  the  steady  files,  with  disciplined  precis 
ion,  and  glittering  in  scarlet  and  gold,  advanced  to  their 
position. 

%  This  is  the  popular  comment  with  respect  to  the 
course  which  Braddock  pursued.  Sargent  writes, 
"  The  perils  of  the  [river]  route  were  self-evident ;  there 
fore  abandoning  all  idea  of  pursuing  it,  he  started  on 
the  morning  of  the  7th,  and  leaving  the  Indian  track 


42  K  HADDOCK'S  FIELTX 

which  he  had  followed  so  lon'sr,  essayed  to  work  his  way 
across  Turtle  Creek  some  twelve  miles  above  its  conflu 
ence  with  the  Monongahela  :  a  step  which,  had  it  been 
carried  out,  would  have  ensured  his  success.  He  would 
then  undoubtedly  have  sat  down  before  the  fort  with 
little  or  no  opposition  on,  his  way.  Bat  the  fates  were 
against  him.'' 

||  "There  was  vile  management  here,"  Washington 
Truly  said,  with  respect  to  the  horses  with  which  the 
army  of  Braddock  was  supplied.  To  have  mounted 
Jack  Fdlstaff's  men,  they  would  have  been  in  keeping. 

?  Among  his  munitions  of  war,  Braddock  is  said  to 
have  had  £2o,OUO  in  specie.  The  search  for  this  treasure 
supposed  to  have  been  buried  along  the  line  of  retreat, 
is  continued  to  this  day.  See  the  following  poem. 

1  For  why  ?  God  wot,  Braddock  never,  at  asingle 
jump  on  the  level,  cleared  a  distance  of  thirty-one  feet,, 
nine  inches  and  an  eighth,  as  this  worthy  carries  a  tape- 
line  in  his  picket  in  proof  Unit  he  did,  on  one  occasion, 
when  it,  became  necessary,  in-  the  very  building  referred 
to,  to  prove  an  alibi  beneath  a  falling  roof!  Besides, 
Braddoek  was  defeated  and  is  (.lead;  while  Jones  has 
never  been  whipped,  and  is  the  life  of  the  country  for 
miles  around  him;  and  long  may  he  continue  so! 

**  "  It  is  said  that  for  some  time  after  Braddock's  de 
feat,  the  bears  having  feasted  on  the  slain,  thought  they 
hud  a  right  to  eat  every  human  being  with  whom  they 
met."-—  l><xl<lrhlr/<''s  .Yo,V,*,  p  21. 

ft  The  skeleton  of  Sir  Peter  Halket,  interlocked  with 
that  of  a  son,  was  identified  by  an  artificial  tooth. 
When  the  mournful  discovery  was  made  by  Major  Hal 
ket  a  son  and  brother,  he  fainted  in  the  arms  of  his 
comrades.  The  tree,  pointed  out,  as  the  one  beneath 
which  the  Halkets  fell,  is  en  titled  to  little  consideration. 

£;:  Thomas  Fawcett,  of  Fayefte  county,  in  hisoldage 
Asserted  that  he  shot  Braddock,  during  t,he  engagement, 
in  order  to  check  the  slaughter  of  the  British  and  pro 
vincials,  by  enabling  them  to  betake  themselves  to 
flight  without  orders,  and  to  avenge  a  blow  dealt  by 
Braddock  with  his  sword  upon  a  brother,  who,  after  the 
usual  manner  of  fighting  with  Indians,  had  betaken 
himself  to  a  tree  behind  which  he  could  load  and  fire  in 
safety.  By  the  critical  historian,  the  story  of  the  old 
man  is  pronounced  a  fiction  of  self-glory.  The  possi 
ble,  however,  to  the  poet  is  the  fact,  if  IK-  requires  it  so 
to  be. 

Several  poems,  contemporaneous  with  the  expedi 
tion  of  Braddock,  are  given  in  the  Appendix. 


THE  GRAVE  OF  lUlAI'DufK .  43 


—  175-)  — 

777 K  GHA  \'L'  OF  JUIADDOCK. 


From  her  earliest  youfh,  Braddoi  k  was  the  constant 
v'ner.d  of  the  frail,  but  beautiful  and  accomplished 
actress,  George  Anne  Bellamy.  At  her  request,  he  gave 
the  agency  of  his  regiment  to  her  putative  husband,  Mr. 
Calcratt ;  and.  on  the  eve  of  his  departure  for  America, 
he  went,  with  Colonel  Burton  and  Captain  Orrne,  to  take 
a  last  farewell.  "Before  we  parted,"  Miss  Bellamy 
writes,  in  the  Apology  for  her  Life,  "  the  General  told  me 
he  should  never  see  me  more  ;  lor  he  was  going  with  a 
handful  of  men  to  conquer  whole  nations;  and  to  do 
This  they  must  cut  their  way  through  unknown 
nvoods.  He  produced  a  map  of  the  country,  saying, 
sit  th<>  same  time,  '  Dt-ar  Pop,  we  are  seat  like  sac 
rifices  to  the  altar/" 


Oh,  had  the  grave  of  Braddock  tongue, 
These  words  had  long  ere  this  been  wrung 
From  ev^ry  echo  iu  the  glade  — 
"Dear  Pop  !  the  sacrifice  is  made  !  " 


—  1755  — 
DUNBAR  THE  TARDY. 


"So  soon  as  Braddock  was  beneath  the  sod,  the 
march  was  resumed  under  Dunbar,  who,  with  800 
wounded  in  his  ranks,  arrived  at  Fort  Cumberland  on 
Tuesday,  July  22nd,  at  two  in  the  afternoon.  By  his  po 
sition  in  the  rear  and  the  sluggishness  of  his  motions, 
this  officer  had  already  acquired  the  unflattering  sobri 
quet  of  '  Dunbar  the  Tardy' ;  and  his  conduct  now  en 
countered  the  censure  of  his  superiors,  the  disgust  of  his 
equals,  and  even  the  criticism  of  his  inferiors.  At  head 
quarters,  his  retreat  was  estimated  as  more  disastrous 
than  the  defeat  itself."—  IS  ARGENT. 


Dunbar  the  Tardy  !  Aye,  give  him  the  blame 
Of  the  stupendous  failure,  and  the  shame 
Of  the  disastrous  ending  to  the  war  ! 
A  scapegoat  is  required  —  yea,  damn  Dunbar ! 


44  THE  MYTH  OF  BRADDOOK's  GOLD. 

-  1755  — 

THE  MYTH  OF  BRADDOCK'S  GOLD. 


Braddock  is  said  to  have  had  in  his  military  chest, 
on  the  day  of  his  disastrous  defeat,  £25,000  in  specie;  and 
further,  report  saith  not.  If,  along  with  the  General's 
instructions  and  private  papers,  his  baggage  and  stores, 
this  treasure  fell  into  the" hands  of  the  French  and  In 
dians,  they  made  no  mention  of  it  in  their  official  re 
turns.  And  if,  abandoned  or  secreted  by  the  drivers  in 
their  flight  from  the  battle-field,  there  is  a  chance  that 
you  or  I  might  find  it  along  the  line  of  the  retreat,  pro 
vided  it  has  not  been  exhumed  and  squandered  already. 
This  ghost  of  a  chance,  however,  for  a  century  and  a 
quarter,  has  haunted  the  minds  of  many,  and  will  for 
many  years  to  come.  There  is  scarcely  a  mile  of  Brad- 
dock's  Road  that  has  not  been  broken  with  the  mattock 
at  midnight  to  find  this  possible,  but  most  improbable 
treasure.  And,  as  might  be  supposed,  about  which 
there  is  so  much  thought  in  so  many  persons,  there 
has  been  evolved  a  number  of  legends  and  stories  per 
taining,  to  which  the  following  is  added. 


In  a  lonely  wood,  two  brothers  stood 

Between  two  ragged  rocks, 
Where,  in  the  mould,  lay  Braddock's  gold. 

In  a  rusty  iron  box. 

Their  clothes  were  worn  with  toil,  and  torn, 
Their  beards  were  grizzled  and  thin, 

Their  cheeks  were  as  gaunt  as  the  jaws  of  Want. 
And  their  eyes  were  the  soulless  of  Sin. 

For  grandsire,  sire,  and  son  had  they, 

For  a  hundred  years  and  more, 
Searched  in  the  night,  in    stealth    and    affright, 

To  find  the  secreted  store. 

Till  all  were  gone,  save  the  two  alone 

Opposing  breast  to  breast, 
With  the  wealth  untold  of  Braddock's  gold 

At  their  feet  in  an  iron  chest. 


45 


Save  the  two  alone,  of   skin  and  bone. 

In  secresy    and    stealth, 
But  to  bend  the  back  and  a  firm  hold  take. 

And  rise  from  want  to  wealth  ! 

When,  lest  they  false  to  each  other  prove, 

Each  knowing  the  other's  sins, 
With  an  iron  chain,  good  faith  to  maintain. 

They  bound  together  their  shins. 

But  they  bent  in  vain,  again  and  again, 
To  lift  the  weight  of  their  wealth  ; 

For  work  and  waot  their  strength  had  spent 
In  secresy  and  stealth  ! 

But  whai  of  a  box  of  a  metal  base 
That  doth  but  the  treasure  hold? 

Aye,  what  of  a  crust  of  iron  rust, 
When  all  within  is  gold? 

With  a  heavy  sledge  and  an  iron  wedge, 

The  brothers  broke  the  locks  ; 
When  ***  sledge  fell  again  and  the  wedge  went  amain, 

And  opened  the  lid  of  the  box. 

When  the  younger  brother,  who  guided  the  wedge. 

Thrust  his  hand  through  the  opening  crack  ; 
In  his  greed  to  enrage  him  that  wielded  the  sledge 

Above  his  brother's  back  ! 

With  a  flash  of  fire  from  the  elder's  eye. 

And  a  curse  with  his  gasping  breath  — 
Down  came  the  sledge!  — but  not  on  the  wedge, 

And  the  younger  lay  in  death  ! 

Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!  the  elder  laughed. 

Till  the  woods  around  did  ring !  — 
An  the  wealth  untold  of  Braddock's  gold 

Had  made  him  of  earth  the  king ! 

He  dropped  the  sledge,  and,  close  to  the  wedge, 

He  thrust  his  hands  in  a  trice ; 
When,  with  a  crack,  the  wedge  flew  back. 
"And  he  was  held  in  a  vise  ! 


46  THE  MYTH  OF  BRADDOCK's  GOLD. 


And  he  was  held  in  an  iron  vise 

Which  the  strength  of  the  twain  could  not  wrest. 
While,  plain  to  the  touch  of  his  greedy  clutch, 

He  felt  the  gold  in  the  chest ! 

Was  ever  the  sooth  of  the  Scriptural  saw 

More  plainly  shown  upon  earth, 
That,  from  sire  to  son.  the  sin  shall  run, 

To  the  third  generation  and  forth. 

When  the  hands  shall  be  held  in  an  iron  vise, 

Which  the  sinner  alone  can  tell, 
With  his  end  attained  —  in  his  sinful  hand, 

And  his  soul  for  aye  in  hell  ! 

Behold  this  wretch  of  the  wretched,  the  rich. 

With  his  gold  within  his  grasp, 
Grim,  grizzled,  and  gaunt,  with  work  and  want. 

And  fast  in  his  coffer's  clasp  ! 

Behold  this  Cain,  with  an  iron  chain, 

To  Abel  bound  perforce, 
Till  he  craved  as  food  the  flesh  and  blood 

Of  the  stinking,  rotting  corse  ! 

While  the  fly  went  into  the  open  mouth, 

And  its  eggs  into  maggots  were  grown, 

That  quickened  afresh  the  murdered  flesh,  — 
Till  nothing  appeared  but  bone  ! 

AVhen  lo  !  a  hungry  crow  flew  down 

Upon  the  murderer's  head, 
Where,  cocking  its  eyes  on  his  hands  in  the  vise, 

Upon  his  eyeballs  fed  ! 

When  into  their  sockets  the  flesh-fly  went,' 
And  its  eggs  into  maggots  were  grown, 

That  quickened  afresh  the  murderer's   flesh,  — 
Till  nothing  appeared  but  bone  ! 

Till  nothing  appeared  but  bone  and  bone 

Bound  together  with  a  chain, 
A  heavy  sledge,  and  an  iron  wedge, 

And  the  gold  in  the  grasp  of  Gain  ! 


A  LEGEND  OF  FORT  DUQUESNE.      47 

Till  nothing  appeared,  as  the  years  sped  by, 

But  iron  rust  and  mould, 
In  a  hollowed  spot,  in  a  haunted  grot, 

And  the  myth  of  Braddock's  gold. 

A  myth,  forsooth,  but  withal  a  truth 

To  be  told  to  young  and  old, 
That  the  greed  of  Gain,  with  the  curse  of   Cain, 

May  remain  with  Braddock's  gold  ! 


—  1755  — 

.4  LEGEND  OF  FORT  DUQUESNE. 

From  the  destruction  of  Braddock's  army  in  1755, 
until  the  advent  of  the  army  under  the  command  of 
General  Forbes,  the  French  held  undisputed  sway  at  the 
head  of  the  Ohio  and  throughout  the  valley  of  the  Mis 
sissippi,  during  which  time  the  events,  related  in  the 
following  poem,  are  supposed  to  have  taken  place.  The 
number  of  women  at  Fort  Duquesne  is  not  known  ;  but 
from  the  stores  of  ladies'  attire,  already  mentioned,  as 
having  been  purchased  in  King  Louis'  name  as  mu 
nitions  of  war,  it  may  be  inferred  there  were  enough  to 
supply  the  demand  of  a  society  play  or  novel.  A  num 
ber  of  women  followed  the  army  of  Braddock,  three  of 
whom,  it  is  known  positively,  were  saved  in  the  gen 
eral  massacre  —  two  to  be  sent  as  slaves  to  Canada,  and 
the  third,  presumably  more  comely  than  her  compan 
ions,  to  be  retained  by  the  French  commander  at  Ve- 
nango.  In  fine,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  Woman,  if  she  has 
not  gone  into  the  wilderness  hand  in  hand  with 
Man,  has  been  so  hard  upon  his  heels  that  a 
turn  alone  was  required  to  meet  face  to  face,  with 
the  usual  consequences. 


An  hundred  years  ago  and  more, 
In  good  King  Louis'  reign, 

This  chance  befell,  as  legends  tell, 
The  French  in  Fort  Duquesne. 

The  captain  of  the  guard,  Lemoyne, 
Besought,  with  gold  and  fee, 

The  daughter  of  Dell,  the  sentinel, 
His  leman  lewd  to  be. 


48  A    LEGEND   OF    FORT   DUQITES.VE. 

But  never  a  word  spake  Isabel, 

But  barely  these  words  three  — 

••  Nay  ;  never  for  pelf  will  I  yield  myself 
Unto  thy  lecherie. 

k'The  light  of  the  jewel  in  my  ring. 

In  wedlock  to  be  given, 
Shall  never  be  made  a  shameful  shade  — 

So  help  me,  Christ  in  heaven  ! 

"  And  more,  Lemoyne  :  thy  wicked  words, 

Speak  never  to  me  again, 
Lest  another's  ear  their  echo  should  hear  — 

The  sentinel  of  Duquesne  1 " 

The  sentinel  of  Duquesne  !  God.  wot, 

Compared  unto  his  child, 
As  rude  and  rough  and  as  gnarled  and  gruff, 

As  she  was  meek  and  mild. 

At  whose  dread  name,  in  sudden  fear, 

The  lusty  coward  fled, 
Within  his  face  no  brighter  trace 

Of  blood  than  in  the  dead. 

Now.  mark  the  cunning  of  Lemoyne 

To  compass  his  intent : 
Unto  Pardee,  in  secresie 

A  summons  straight  he  sent. 

And  in  his  hand  he  placed  a  sword, 
With  never  a  word  but  three  — 

"  Art  thou  a  drudge  to  bear  a  grudge 
Unto  eternity? 

"Crouched  in  thy  cloak,  as  Isabel, 

Unto  her  father  advance, 
And  with  thy  sword  strike  with  the  word  — 

LOUISIANA  —  NEW  FRANCE  ! 

;1  And  when  the  morrow's  sun  shall  see 

The  dead  man  in  the  fort, 
The  captain's  oath  shall  save  us  both 

From  any  ill  report.'' 


A  LEGEND  OF  TORT  DUQUESNE.      49 


With  a  willing  ear,  the  wicked  wight 

Heard  every  evil  word  ; 
With  <rnashing  teeth  and  indrawn  breath, 

He  grasped  the  profered  sword. 

Whereat  Lcmoyne,  unto  his  bed 

In  expectation  crept, 
To  hang  on  the  morn  the  murd'rer  forsworn,  — 

And  in  dreams  of  Isabel,  slept. 

Meantime,  fair  Isabel  had  gone 

Unto  her  father,  perchance, 
And  passed  the  word  to  be  spoken  and  heard  — 

LOUISIANA  —  NEW  FRANCE  ! 

And  while  in  his  bosorn  she  toid  her  tale, 

His  gun  athwart  her  back, 
The  sentinel's  eye  caught  against  the  sky 

A  shadow  in  her  track ! 

The  shadow  of  a  woman  —  or  witch, 

In  the  might  of  a  magic  spell, 
That  spake  the  word  to  be  spoken  and  heard, 

With  the  voice  of  Isabel ! 

When  crash  !  a  ready,  rapid  sword 

Against  the  musket  fell, 
To  break  and  fall  upon  the  wall 

Before  the  sentinel. 

But  ere  the  blade  had  ceased  to  ring 

Upon  the  parapet, 
The  murderous  shade  in  death  vtas  laid 

By  the  sentinel's  bayonet. 

A  light  procured,  the  sentinel 

Discovered  in  the  slain 
One  of  the  guard  whose  life  he  had  spared 

Erewhile  in  Fort  Duquesne. 

And  in  the  summons  in  his  fob, 

And  in  the  broken  sword, 
The  base  design  of  the  lusty  Lemoyne, 

The  captain  of  the  guard. 


50"  A    LEGEND    OF   FORT    DUQCESXE. 

"Come  hither,  my  child,  and  doff  thy  gown,'' 

The  valiant  sentinel  said  ; 
And  then  anon  he  bade  her  doo 

The  raiment  of  the  dead. 

And  into  her  hand  he  placed  his  gun, 

And  bade  her  pace  the  wall, 
And  cry  "All's  well !  r'  like  a  sentinel, 

To  every  current  call. 

Then  into  the  gown  of  Isabel, 

He  thrust  the  naked  dead, 
To  bear  it  away,  ere  the  break  of  day, 

Unto  the  captain's  bed. 

And  .what  thougU  curt  were  the  sleeves  and  skirt 

For  Isabel  was  small, 
While  in  life  the  slain  had  stood  in    Duquesne, 

The  tallest  of  the  tall  — 

With  the  broken  sword,  the  sentinel 

Cut  off  the  legs  at  the  knee, 
And  eke  the  head  and  the  arms  of  the  dead, 

And  fit  it  to  a  tee. 

Then  away  he  sped  to  the  captain's  bed, 
And  laid  the  corse  by  his  side, 

The  truth  to  tell,  as  Isabel, 

And  bade  him  greet  his  bride. 

"Oh,  wherefore  liest  thou  so* still  — 

And  hidest  thou  thy  head  ? 
Oh,  raise  thy  lip  that  I  may  sip  "  — 

He  drank  the  blood  of  the  dead  ! 

u  And,  dearest  love,  unfold  thine  arms. 
And  clasp  me  to  thy  breast  — 

Here  let  me  He  until  I  die  "  — 
It  was  a  corpse  he  pressed  ! 

••Xay.  Isabel,  unlock  thy  limbs, 

Lest  force  with  prayer  unite  "  — 

When  lo  !  appeared  one  of  the  guard  — 
The  murdered  Dell,  with  a  light ! 


A  LEGEND  OF  FORT  DUQUESNE.     51 


(')  li error  of  horrors,  the  lusty  Lemoyne 

Beheld,  in  his  embrace, 
The  mangled  corse  of —  Isabel '?  —  worse? 

Of  the  wretch  Pardee  in  her  place ! 

And  when  with  horror  his  soul  was  glut, 

In  terror  he  shrieked  outright  ; 
But  he  called  in  vain  in  Fort  Duquesne. 

For  aid  that  terrible  night. 

For  the  storm,  that  wrapped  tin?  world  in  black. 

Had  burst  above  the  fort, 
And  naught  could  be  heard  by  the  startled  guard 

But  the  thunder's  loud  report. 

And  naught  could  be  seen  —  but,  Christ  behold  ! 

On  the  wall  the  sentinel, 
llevealed  in  the  night  by  the  daggering  light 

Like  a  sentinel  of  hell ! 

A  monster  with  a  severed  head 

Suspended,  in  the  air, 
Above  a  face  of  matchless  grace, 

With  a  woman's  flowing  hair ! 

A  monster,  with  two  severed  legs, 

That  strode  upon  the  wall, 
Now  stalking  here,  now  stilting  there, 

Most  marvelously  tall ! 

A  monster,  with  two  severed  arms 

That  waved  to  and  fro, 
As  if  to  catch  a  fleeing  wretch, 

Or  clutch  a  struggling  foe ! 

A  monster  with  a  flaming  gun 

With  a  gleaming  bayonet  — 
From  the  crooked  joint  to  th,e  quivering  point, 

A  dazzling  lightning  jet !  * 

A  monster  that,  above  the  storm, 

Cried  thrice  and  again,  "All's  well !" 

In  a  tone  as  clear  to  every  ear 
As  the  voice  of  Isabel ! 


52      A  LEGEND  OF  FORT  DUQUESNE. 


Until  the  cock  crew  in  the  morn, 

When  lo  !  the  monster  fled  ; 
And  the  valiant  Dell,  the  sentinel, 

Unwittingly  btood  in  its  stead  ! 

But  whence  the  captain  of  the  guard  ? 

And  whence  the  wretch  Pardee  ? 
Borne  with  the  flood  in  the  River  of  Blood 

Unto  the  salt,  salt  sea. 

Leaving  naught  behind  to  keep  them  in  mind 

And  their  unhappy  chance, 
But  the  broken  sword  and  the  spoken  word  — 

LOUISIANA  —  NEW  FRANCE. 

A  word  —  a  Name,  God  wot,  to  drift 

In  a  few  years  down  the  river 
To  its  multiple  mouth  in  the  sunny  South. 

And  there  to  abide  forever. 

Where  on  a  snag,  a  floating  flag 

Had  lodged  erewhile  and  lain  — 

Or  was  it  the  gown  that  had  drifted  down 
With  the  twain  from  Fort  Duquesne  ? 


*  This  phenomenon  has  received  the  appellation  of  St. 
Elmo's  Fire.  It  was  known  to  the  ancients  by  the  name 
of  Castor  and  Pollux,  and  many  instances  have  been  re 
corded  by  classic  writers.  The  night  before  the  battle 
gained  by  Posthumius  over  the  Sabines,  the  Roman  jav 
elins  emitted  a  light  like  torches;  and  Caesar  relates 
that  during  the  African  war,  in  the  month  of  February, 
there  suddenly  arose,  about  the  second  watch  of  the 
night,  a  dreadful  storm  that  threw  the  Roman  army  in 
to  great  confusion,  at  which  time  the  points  of  the  darts 
of  the  fifth  legion  appeared  to  be  on  fire.  The  fire  of  St. 
Elmo  is  displayed  frequently  upon  the  masts  of  vessels  ; 
and  at  Edinburg  castle,  which  stands  upon  a  high  rock, 
it  is  noticed  often.  Here,  upon  the  approach  of  a  storm, 
the  bayonets  of  the  soldiers  on  guard  are  seen 
frequently  capped  with  flame,  and  an  iron  ram 
rod,  placed  upright  upon  the  walls,  presents  th. 
appearance  of  a  rod  of  flame.  This  curious  phenomenon 
has  been  explained  by  Brocklesby  as  follows  :  When  in 
a  darkened  room  a  needle  is  brought  near  to  the  chur^.-d 


KIT-TANNING. 


conductor  of  an  electrical  machine,  the  point  is  tipped 
with  a  vivid  light,  caused  by  the  flow  of  electricity  from 
the  conductor  to  the  needle.  In  the  same  manner  when 
thunder-clouds  approach  very  near  the  earth,  lightning 
does  not  always  occur;  but  the  electricity  becomes  so 
intense,  that  it  escapes  from  one  to  the  other 
by  points  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth,  which  then 
glow  with  a  brilliant  flame. 


—  1756  — 

KITTANN1NG. 


In  September,  17ofi,  an  expedition,  under  the  com 
mand  of  Colonel  John  Armstrong,  of  Carlisle,  was  put 
into  execution  against  the  Indian  town  of  Kit-tanning, 
about  forty  miles  north  of  Fort  Duquesne,  on  the  Al 
legheny  river,  from  which,  up  the  Kiskiminetas  and 
Conemaugh  and  down  the  Juniata,  the  Indians  made 
their  incursions  into  the  settlements  in  the  central  part 
of  Pennsylvania,  to  glut  their  appetites,  rendered  raven 
ous  for  scalps  and  prisoners,  by  the  destruction  of  Brad- 
dock's  army,  in  which  they  shared.  At  this  place,  the 
French  had  deposited  ammunition  and  supplies  for  the 
Indians,  sufficient,  as  they  boasted,  to  carry  on  war 
against  the  English  for  ten  years.  Here,  it  was, too,  that 
the  noted  Indian,  Captain  Jacobs,  a  Deleware,  resided 
permanently,  and  the  no  less  celebrated  Shingis,  occa 
sionally.  Jacobs  was  among  the  slain,  at  the  destruc 
tion  of  the  town,  and  the  military  stores.  The  force  of 
Armstrong  consisted  of  307  men,  of  whom  17  were  killed, 
19  reported  missing,  and  13  wounded,  including  the  gal 
lant  Colonel,  who  received  a  large  musket  ball  in  the 
shoulder.  P^leven  women  and  children,  English  cap 
tives,  were  retaken  and  restored  to  their  friends.  The 
loss  to  the  savages  is  unknown,  beyond  the  fact  that  it 
was  severe,  serving  to  che^k  their  ravages  for  some  time 
afterward.  Such  of  them  as  had  belonged  to  Kittan- 
iiing  and  escaped  the  carnage,  refused  to  settle 
again  on  the  east  of  Fdrt  Duquesne,  very  wisely 
placing  that  fortress  and  the  French  garrison  be 
tween  them  and  the  English. 

Auld  Scotland  may  crack  o' hcr  Armstrongs  at  hame, 
Till  the  day  of  doom  doth  dawn, 

But  there's  ane  that's  awa  is  a  head  aboon  a1, 
A  braw  man  and  worthy,  hight  John. 


54  WILLIAM    PITT. 


Och,  ower  the  mountain  and  ower  the  moor. 

He  cam'  wi'  three  hundred  a'  tould, 
And  beleagured  the  thief  o'  an  Indian  chief 

lu  the  town  of  Kittanning  of  auld. 

Och,  the  fire  it  leapt  high,  aud  the  fire  it  leapt  far. 

Till  the  town  was  a'  in  a  lowe, 
And  wha  were  nae  brent,  w  their  lang  ha  me  were  sent 

Wi'  the  guns  o?  the  compassing  foe. 

But  the  eagle  of  victory  never  sae  screams, 
As  when  it  soars  drippin'  wi'  gore  — 

O'  the  three  hundred  men  a'  tould  and  again. 
There  were  wounded  and  killed  two  score. 

But  wha  will  measure  the^  victory's  worth, 

By  the  slain  o'  foe  or  friend, 
Is  a  near-sighted  loon  i'  the  blink  o'  the  moon. 

That  sees  nor  beginnin'  nor  end  ! 

Och,  what  sae  gleams  on  Johnny's  broad  breast. 

Beneath  a  showther  scar? 
Hout !  what  should  it  be  that  sae  gl°ams  i'  the  e'e, 

But  the  gowden  glories  o'  war  ! 

But  what  is  the  sound  that  greets  the  ear? 

Ah,  that  is  the  prayer  to  God 
0'  the  mother  and  wean  wha  hae  captive  been, 

Hame  returned  frae  the  wild,  wild  wood. 

Aye,  proudly,  proudly  the  guid  gowd  gleams 

On  Johnny  Armstrong's  breast ; 
But  dearer  far  than  the  glories  o'  war 

Is  the  prayer  that  mak's  him  blest ! 


—  1757  — 

WILLIAM  PITT. 


During  the  years  1755,  17f>fi,  and  1757,  a  series  of  de 
feats  in  succession  pursued  the  English  arms  in  America, 
until  despondency  seized  upon  the  mind  of  the  people. 


CHRISTIAN    FREDERICK    POST.  55 


•'I  never  saw  so  dreadful  a  time!"  exclaimed  Lord 
Chesterfield. 

At  length  the  creation  of  a  new  ministry  in  Eng 
land,  at  the  head  of  which  was  placed  William  Pitt,  af 
terward  the  Earl  of  Chatham,  produced  an  immediate 
<-hange  for  the  better  in  the  aspect  of  affairs.  Public 
confidence  revived,  and  the  nation  was  inspired 
with  new  vigor. 

An  objective  point  to  the  new  administration  was 
the  head  of  the  Ohio;  and  the  reduction  of  Fort  Du 
quesne  was  determined  upon  at  all  hazards.  This  was 
achieved  in  the  following  year,  when  a  new  fort,  upon 
the  ashes  of  Duquesne  arose  to  perpetuate  the  name  and 
fame  of  the  Premier  of  England  forever,  Fort  Pitt,  upon 
the  site  of  which  stands  to-day  the  City  of  Pittsburgh, 
a  monument,  I  trow,  as  proud  and  enduring  as  any 
within  the  walls  of  Westminster. 


The  Little  World  was  a  thought  in  his  brain  - 
The  reduction  forthwith  of  defiant  Duquesne  ! 

The  Little  World  in  his  hand  was  a  prize  — 
The  Fort  of  the  Frenchman  a  cloud  in  the  skies ! 

The  Little  World  is  a  world  of  fame, 
Revolving  for  aye  round  the  hub  of  his  Name  ! 


—  17o8  — 

CHRISTIAN  FREDERICK  POST. 


In  order  to  prevail  upon  the  Deleware,  the  Shawa- 
nese,  and  the  Mingo  Indians,  to  withdraw  from  the 
French,  Christian  Frederick  Post  was  dispatched  to  the 
Ohio  by  the  government  of  Pennsylvania,  in  advance  of 
the  second  English  army  marched  through  the  wilder 
ness  for  the  reduction  of  Fort  Duquesne  —  the  army  un 
der  the  Head  of  Iron,  General  John  Forbes,  a  native  of 
Scotland.  Post  was  an  honest,  unassuming  German,  a 
Moravian,  who,  as  a  missionary,  had  become  acquaint 
ed  with  the  Indians  and  they  with  him:  and  how  well 
he  succeeded  in  his  mission  may  be,  learned  from  the 
follow  ing  poem.  In  17U2,  a  hundred  miles  west  of  the 
site  of  Fort  Duquesne,  he  attempted  to  establish  a  mis 
sion,  but,  failing  in  this,  he  removed  to  the  Bay  of  Hon- 


56  CHRISTIAN    FREDERICK    POST. 


duras,  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  Mosquito  Indians. 
His  Journal  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  the  rec 
ords  of  the  Little  World. 


An  army  of  four  thousand  men 

Wound  thro'  the  wild,  wild  wood, 
The  British  lion  on  their  flag, 

Their  coats  as  red  as  blood  ; 
The  fate  of  Braddock  in  their  hearts, 

As  they  crept  thro'  I  he  heath  ; 
But  never,  I  ween,  was  foeinan  seen, 

And  all  was  still  as  death  : 

For  the  Man  of  Peace  *  their  track  had  crossed 
An  hour  before,  in  Frederick  Post ! 

With  drums  unslung,  and  pipes  unblown, 

With  eyes  and  ears  alert. 
The  trembling  thousands  shunned  the  glen 

And  glade  with  thicket  girt ; 
But  the  sword  by  day  with  rust  was  red, 

And  by  night  with  dew  was  wet, 
While,  in  mockerie,  the  leaves  of  the  tree 

Fell  on  the  bayonet : 

For  the  Man  of  Truth  f  had  come  with  the  frost 
That  shook  the  leaves,  in  Frederick  Post ! 

The  scout  by  day  crept  in  the  brake, 

And  crouched  behind  the  oak, 
Or  looked  afar  from  tho  mountain's  height 

For  the  hidden  camp-fire's  smoke  ; 
The    sentinel    alone    at    night 

Stared  at  the  ogling  owl, 
And  shuddered  at  the  scream  of  the  cat, 

And  the  wolf's  discordant  howl : 
But  the  Man  of  Faith  J  availed  them  most. 
Who  had  gone  before,  in  Frederick  Post ! 

The  Head  of  Iron,  from  his  couch, 

Gave  courage  and  command, 
Which  Washington,  Bouquet,  and  Grant 

Repeated  to  the  band  ; 


CHRISTIAN    FREDERICK    TOST.  57 

Till,  hark  !  the  Highlanders- began 

With  their  chieftain's  words  to  swell, 

u  To  night,  I  shall  sup  and  drain  my  cup 
In  Fort  Duquesne  —  or  Hell  !  "  || 

But  the  Man  of  Prayer,  and  not  of  boast,§ 

Had  spoken  first,  in  Frederick  Post! 

At  length  the  army  stood  amazed 

Upon    a    vacant    plain, 
And  pitched  their  tent  in  wonderment 

On  the  ashes  of  Duquesne  ! 
The  formidable  Frenchman,  gone  ! 

And  the  Redman  come,  in  sport, 
The  peace-pipe  to  light,  in  the  gathering  night, 

With  a  brand  from  the  burning  fort ! 
For  the  Man  of  God  ^  with  a  mightier  host 
Had  gone  before,  in  Frederick   Post ! 


"  I  prayed  the  Lord  to  restore  peace  and  prosperity 
to  the  distressed."— Post's  Journal. 

f  "They  were  certain  I  would  speak  the  truth."— 
Ibid.  "I  have  a  good  conscience  before  God  and 
man."—  Ibid. 

%  "The  Lord  knows  how  they  have  been  counselling 
about  my  life  ;  but  they  [the  French]  did  not  know  who 
was  my  protector  and  deliverer  :  1  believe  my  Lord  has 
been  too  strong  against  them;  my  enemies  have  done 
what  lies  in  their  power."— Ibid.  "I  told  them  it  is 
done  by  no  other  means  than  by  faith  "—  Ibid.  "  I  said. 
'  As  God  hath  stopped  the  mouths  of  the  lions,  that  they 
could  not  devour  Daniel,  so  he  will  preserve  us  from 
their  fury,  and  bring  us  through.'  "—  Ibid. 

||  John  Ormsby,  a  commissary  in  the  army  under 
Forbes,  makes  the  following  statement  iu  his  brief  biog 
raphy  of  the  Head  of  Iron  : 

"  When  the  army  arrived  at  Turtle  Creek,  a  council 
of  war  was  held,  the  result  of  which  was,  that  it  was  im 
practicable  to  proceed,  all  the  provisions  and  forage  be 
ing  exhausted.  On  the  General  being  told  of  this,  he 
swore  a  furious  oath,  that  he  would  sleep  in  the  Fort  or 
a  worse  place  the  next  night." 

g  "I  slept  very  sound,  and  in  the  morning  they 
asked  me  if  I  was  not  afraid  the  enemy  Indians  would 
kill  me.  I  said,  'No,  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  Indians,  nor 
of  the  devil  himself:  I  fear  my  great  Creator,  God."— 


58  LOTALHANITA, 

Post's  Journal.  And  yet  —  discretion  was  the  better 
part  of  valor  even  in  Christian  Frederick  Post:  "Some 
of  my  party  desired  me  not  to  stir  from  the  fire;  for  that 
the  French  had  offered  a  great  reward  for  my  scalp,  ami' 
that  there  were  several  parties  out  for  that  purpose. 
Accordingly,  I  stuck  constantly  as  close  to  the  fire,  as  if  I 
luid  been  chained  there.'1'' — Ibid.  "  I  prayed  to  the  Lord  to- 
blind  them  [the  French,]  as  he  did  the  enemies  of  Lot 
and  Elisha,  that  I  might  pass  unknown." —  Ibid. 

f  "The  Lord  helped  me  that  I  got  safe  from  my 
horse." —  Ibid.  "Praise  and  glory  be  to  the  Lamb,  that 
has  been  slain,  and  brought  me  through  the  country  of 
dreadful  jealously  and  mistrust,  wht^re  the  prince  of  this 
world  has  his  rule  and  government  over  the  children  of 
disobedience." —  Ibid. 

-  1758  — 

LOYALHANNA. 


While  the  army  of  Forbes  lay  on  the  banks  of  the 
Loyalhanna,*  about  fifty  miles  east  of  Fort  Duquesne  — 
an  encampment  which  a  few  months  hence  became 
Fort  Ligonier, —  Colonel  George  Washington,  in  com 
mand  of  the  troops  from  Virginia,  indited  several  letters 
to  the  woman  with  whom  he  was  enamored  at  the  time, 
and  who,  in  after  years,  became  his  wife,  but  not  a 
mother  to  the  Father  whose  child  was  destined  to  be 
One  among  the  Nations  of  the  Earth. 


Thrice  blessed  the  name  of  the  beautiful  stream 
That  winds  through  the  leafy  grove, 

Where,  rapt  in  a  vision  of  pleasures  elysian, 
George  Washington  sighed  in  love  ! 

Fond  lover  !  behind  the  morrow's  wall, 

Thou  starest  into  stone  ! 
The  womb  of  woman  is  given  unto  man 

To  bear  mortal  daughter  and  son  — 

But  the  womb  of  war  has  been  given  to  thee ! 

And  erelong  it  shall  burst  into  fire, 
And  a  Nation  of  Earth  come  forth  into  birth, 

Immortal,  to  hail  thee  Sire  ! 


FORT    MACHATTLT. 


*  The  signification  of  the  word  Loyalhaima  —  a  va 
riation  or  corruption  of  La-el -han -neck,  as  given  by 
McCullough,  is  Middle  Creek:  possibly  because,  it  is 
sibout  midway  between  the  month  of  the  Black  Lick 
and  the  Allegheny,  in  descending  the  Conemaugh  and 
Kiskiminetas.  Mrs.  Margaret  C.  Craig  gives  a  tradi 
tionary  signification,  namely,  Clear-running  Water, 
which  is  erroueoias"  albeit.it  has  been  accepted  by  my 
learned  friend,  James  Johnston,  Esq.,  of  Kingston;  while 
the  legend  which  attributes  the  name  t<j  the  faithful 
•daughter  of  the  last  of  the  Indians  who  resided  in  the 
gorge,  a  certain  Loyal  Hanna,  wh«  supported  her  father 
in  the  extremity  of  age,  with  her  bow  and  arrow,  is  on 
a,  par  with  the  popular  origin  of  the  word  Ligoriier,  the 
name  of  the  old  fort  on  the  Loynihanna,  at  present  the 
town  of  Ligonier,  in  Ligotiier  township,  Westmoreland 
county :  namely,  that  an  early  hunter,  shooting  at  a  deer 
while  the  animal  was  scratching  its  ear  with  its  hind 
foot,  by  chance  killed  it,  perforating  at  the  same  time 
the  leg  ««,'  ear! 


—  1759  — 

FORT  MACHAULT. 


"  At  this  point  —  the  French  fort  at  Venango  —  there 
were  sometimes  as  many  as  one  thousand  men.  A 
large  force  had  assembled  here  in  July,  1759,  to  make  an 
attack  on  Fort  Pitt,  to  recover  what  they  had  lost  in. 
Fort  Duquesne,  when  intelligence  came  that  Fort  Niag 
ara  was  besieged,  and  orders  to  evacuate  and  hasten 
thither  to  the  rescue.  The  creek  was  too  low  to  convey 
their  effects  by  boat,  and  there  was  no  transportation  by 
land,  beyond  personal  baggage.  So,  presents  were  dis 
tributed  with  a  lavish  hand  to  the  Indians.  Grim  war 
riors  were  seen  strutting  about  in  laced  coats  and  hats, 
without  other  clothing,  and  dusky  maidens  were  rich 
with  red  blankets,  worn  shawl-wise,  and  gaudy  with 
immense  strings  of  beads.  The  property  was  collected 
into  the  Fort,  set  on  fire,  and  all  that  would  burn  was 
reduced  to  ashes.  Thus,  after  a  possession  here  of 
five  and  a  half  years,  the  French  claim  was  aban 
doned  forever."  —  EATON. 

The  while,  the  interior  of  Fort  Pitt,  was  in  the  fol 
lowing  plight,  as  depicted  by  John  Ormsby,  the 
commissary  — 

"  Our  Commandant,  Col.  Mercer,  was  informed  by 
express  that  there  were  1,500  regulars  and  a  strong 


60  GUYASOOTHA. 

l.ody  of  Indians  at  Venango,  making  ready  for 
an  expedition  against  our  post,  which  would  at 
tack  us  within  three  days. 

"Thisanformation,  you  may  be  sure,  struck  ti  panic 
into  our  people,  being  3(H)  miles  from  any  aid,  and  sur 
rounded  by  the  merciless  savages,  from  whom  no  expec 
tation  of  mercy  was  in  view,  but  immediate  destruction 
by  the  tomahawk,  or  lingering  starvation. 

"I  must  own,  I  made  my  sincere  application  to  the 
Almighty,  to  pardon  my  sins  and  extricate  us  from  this 
deplorable  dilemma.  Our  prayers  were  heard,  and  we 
[were]  extricated  from  the  dreaded  massacre,  for  day 
before  the  expected  attack,  an  Indian  fellow  arrived  from 
Niagara,  informing  Col.  Mercer  that  General  Johnson 
laid  siege  to  Niagara,  with  a  formidable  English  army, 
so  that  the  attack  on  Fort  Pitt  was  countermanded,  and 
the  French  and  Indians  ordered  to  return  toward  Ni 
agara  with  the  utmost  haste.  This  was  done,  and  when 
they  arrived  within  a  day's  march  of  Niagara,  the  brave 
Irish  General  Johnson  ordered  an  ambuscade  to  a  diffi 
cult  pass,  through  which  the  above  troops  were  to 
march,  and  thus  they  were  all  killed  or  taken,  to  the 
great  joy  of  poor  Ormsby  and  his  associates  !" 


''Farewell,  and  forever, 

Thou,  Beautiful  River!" 
Was  the  Frenchman's  adieu,  with  his  brag  array, 

When,  resounding  afar, 

The  cannons  of  war 
Redoubled  the  roar  of  Niagara  ! 


—  1763  — 

GUYASOOTHA. 


During  the  Heroic  Period  of  the  history  of  the  Little 
World  of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  possibly  the  most 
important  personage  among  the  Indians,  as  well  as  the 
most  characteristic  savage  in  contrast  with  the  White 
man,  was  Guyasootha,  a  leader  of  the  Seneca  tribe  of 
the  Six  Nations.  "  A  most  distinguished  character  in 
deed,"  writes  Craig,  "in  all  the  movements  here,  from 
the  time  of  Washington's  first  visit  until  after  the  close 
of  our  revolution.  He  was  one  of  the  Indians  who  ac 
companied  Washington  from  Logstown  to  Le  Boeuf. 
He  was  then  young  and  not  very  prominent.  He  was 


GUYASOOTHA.  61 


present,  and  a  leading-  character,  in  the  conference  with 
Colonel  Bradstreet,  near  Lake  Erie,  in  1764,  and  a  few 
weeks  later  at  the  conference  with  Bouquet  on  the  Mus- 
kingurn.  He  was  a  leading  character  in  the  conference 
held  at  this  place  [  Pittsburgh]  in  April  and  May,  1768. 
He  was  the  leader  in  the  attack  upon  and  burning  of 
Hannastown  in  17S2.  In  1770,  while  Washington  was 
descending  the  Ohio  river,  he  was  visited  by  an  Indian 
whom  he  recognized  as  one  of  his  companions  in  1754, 
It  was  Guyasutha.  His  name,  t6o,  has  been  so  various 
ly  spelled  that  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to  trace  him  in 
different  notices.  Guyasutha,  Guyasootha,  Kiasutha, 
Kaishuta.  Guyasudy,  and  General  Richard  Butler,  who 
understood  some  of  the  Indian  dialects  spelled  it  Kia- 
sola.  He  survived  all  the  troubles  of  the  French  war, 
[1754-9, J  of  the  war  sometimes  called  Pontiac's  and  some 
times  Guyasutha's  [1763-4,]  and  of  our  Revolution  [1776- 
83,]  the  most  fatal  of  all  to  the  power  and  glory  of  the 
Six  Nations.  Finally  he  died  in  our  neighborhood 
within  the  memory  of  many  now  Mving  [in  1851,]  and 
left  his  name  to  the  beautiful  plain  on  the  Allegheny 
river,  where  his  remains  now  rest.''  At  the  breaking 
out  of  the  war,  the  honors  of  which  have  been  divided 
between  him  and  Pontiac,  in  1763.  he  was  at  the  meridian 
of  mauhood,  an  organic  expression  of  his  environment 
magnificent  to  behold. 


It  was  the  observation  of  a  child, 

That  every  plant  that  grows  grows  in  accord 

With  its  surroundings,  in  the  sun  or  shade, 

ID  humid  ground  or  dry,  in  rich  or  poor, 

Until,  beholding  dwarfed  and  stunted  fruit, 

He  saw  the  cause  in  the  effect  direct, 

And  cried  out,  "  Ho  !  that  grew  upon  the  ridge  ! 

But  o'er  and  o'er  a  thousand  times,  the  child 
Turned  in  the  dust  of  dissolution,  and 
Looked  out  upon  the  world,  before  he  saw 
Himself  grow  as  the  plant,  in  strict  accord 
With  his  environment  —  the  air  he  breathed, 
The  soil  from  which  he  drew  his  sustenance, 
The  great  without  which  turned  to  the  within  ; 
When  lo  !  beholding  self  as  he  had  grown, 
He  saw  himself  forthwith  the  ear-marked  son 
Of  his  environment,  his  sire,  his  God  ! 


62  THE    PIPER    LAD. 

Reviewing,  in  the  globules  of  his  blood, 
His  past  paternal  in  epitome  ! 

Lo  !  Guyasootha  rises  from  the  grave 

As  he  appeared  to  Washington  —  as  he 

Stood  side  by  side  with  Pontiac  —  as  he 

Declaimed  before  Bouquet  —  as  he  pursued 

The  harvesters  of  Hannastown  —  as  he 

In  fact  personified  the  wilderness 

An  hundred  years  ago  and  more : 

The  tawny  twilight  of  the  wild,  wild  wood, 

Organic  in  the  color  of  his  skin  ; 

The  sombre  solitude  in  which  he  roamed, 

The  sullen  mood  in  which  he  thought  and  willed  : 

The  storm,  that  gathered  in  the  air,  revolving:. 

Until  it  took  the  great  oak  in  its  grasp 

And  laid  it  prostrate  with  a  scornful  fling, 

His  purpose  whirling  unto  its  fulfilment  — 

The  distant  fort,  unguarded  in  the  night, 

A  heap  of  ashes,  and  the  morning  air 

A  sickening  stench  of  burning  blood  and  bonea ! 

Majestic  Man,  within  the  wild,  wild  wood, 
The  sum  of  thy  surroundings  seen  in  blood  ! 


THE  PIPER  LAD. 


—  1763  — 

This  little  ballad,  which  has  been  set  to  music  and 
published  by  the  writer,  has  no  purview  beyond  being  a 
souvenir  in  song  of  the  memorable  Battle  of  Bushy  Run, 
AugustStH  and  6th,  1763,  in  which  the  Indians  under 
Guyasootha  were  repulsed  with  severe  loss,  by  an  Eng 
lish  army,  under  Colonel  Henry  Bouquet,  and  com 
posed  almost  wholly  of  Highlanders  in  their  kilts  and 
plaids,  and  of  the  intimate  association  between  Scot 
land,  by  means  of  her  soldiers  and  emigrants,  and 
Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  the  scene  of  their  exploits 
or  the  place  of  their  settlement.  "It  is  quite  remarka 
ble,"  writes  Craig,  "how  prominent  Scotchmen  were 
in  the  early  history  of  this  country.  Stobo  was  long 
confined  in  Fort  Duquesne.  Forbes  drove  the  French 
froii  this  place,  and  Mercer  was  the  first  officer  in  com- 


THE   PIPER   LAD.  63 


maud  in  the  first  Fort  Pitt.  Sir  Peter  Halket  and  his 
son,  with  several  other  Scotchmen,  fell  at  Braddock's 
field.  While  at  Grant's  defeat,  [  in  advance  of  the  army 
of  Forbes,  in  1758,]  four  officers  of  the  name  of  Macken 
zie,  three  McDonalds,  a  Munro  and  a  Campbell,  all  of 
the  Highland  Regiment,  were  killed,  while  Major  Grant 
himself  was  wounded  and  taken  prisoner,  and  one 
hundred  and  thirty-one  soldiers  were  killed  or  miss 
ing."  While,  in  after  years  in  other  spheres  of  life  be 
sides  that  of  the  soldier,  there  were  many  distinguished 
Scotchmen,  the  names  of  several  of  whom  will  appear 
in  the  following  pages. 


Lang  he  loo'ed  her,  lang  he  wooed  her, 

But  she  mocked  wi'  scorn  — 
'k  Breek  sae  raggit !  limb  sae  scraggit ! 

Piper  laddy  born  !  "— 
But  heart  o'  man  ayj  canna  thole 
O'  woman's  scorn  the  dreesome  dole : 
He's  ta'en  his  fayther's  pipe  in  hand, 
And  gane  to  foreign  land. 

"  Come  back,  Jamie  dear  ! 
Come  back,  Jamie  dear  !  " — 
But  seas  are  wide,  and  wae  betide, 
Her  Jamie  canna  hear. 

Loud  he  skirlit,  loud  he  thirlit, 

A'  that  bluidy  day, 
'Boon  the  rattle  o'  the  battle, — 

"Brawly  !  "  quo'  Bouquet. 
But  savage  ear  has  ta'en  the  sound, 
And  savage  e'e  the  lad  has  found : 
The  pipe  gi'es  out  a  mournfu'  blast  — 
The  piper's  blawn  his  last ! 

u  Come  back,  Jamie  dear ! 
Come  back,  Jamie  dear !  "  — 
But  graves  are  deep,  and  dead  men  sleep 
Her  Jamie  canna  hear. 

Bells  are  ringin',  backward  swingin', 

Hame  the  sogers  come  ! 
Hearts  are  beatin',  een  are  greetin', 


64  THE    BIRD    OF    BOUQUET. 


Tongues  wi'  joy  are  dumb  1 
The  pibroch  sounds  ayon*  the  wa' — 
But  Jeannie  s  heart  is  biak  in  twa  ! 
While  ithers  run  she  stands  aghast  — 
It  is  nae  Jamie's  blast  ! 

;- Come  back,  Jamie  dear  1 
Come  back,  Jamie  dear  !  ' — 
But  ruefu'  groans    stir  nae  dead  bones 
Her  Jamie  canna  hear  I 


—  1763  — 

THE  BIRD   OF  BOUQUET. 


The  following  mnemonic  for  the  nurse^  was  sug 
gested  by  a  popular  rhy me  that  answers  the  inevitable 
question  of  the  child,  on  seeing  for  the  first  time  the  red 
headed  woodpecker,  and,  it  is  hoped,  in  a  no  less  satis 
factory  manner  to  all  concerned.  If  the  fiction  serve  to- 
fix  the  fact  of  the  Battle  of  Bushy  Run  in  the  memory 
of  a  single  child,  that  it,  in  after  years,  may  turn  to  the 
page  of  history  to  emulate  henceforth  the  virtues  and 
the  worth  of  the  gallant  Colonel  Henry  Bouquet  who 
commanded  the  British  troops  in  their  decisive  victory 
over  the  savages  in  1703.  the  jingle  and  rhyme  shall 
have  achieved  the  end  of  its  being:  so,  with  a  God-speed 
on  its  errand,  let  it  pass! 


'l  Oh  !   what  has  made  your  head  so  red  ?  " 
A  wondering  boy  to  the  woodpecker  said. 

"  A-rack,  a-tack,  tack  !  "  the  woodpecker  said, 
"I've  flown  thro'  the  wood    where    the    Highlan 
ders  bled, 
And  that  has  made  my  head  so  red." 

''And  what  has  made  your  back  so  black?" 
The  little  boy  said  to  the  woodpecker's  clack. 

The  woodpecker  answered,  "A-rack,  a-tack,  tack  ! 
I've  flown  o'er  the  dead  in  the  Highlander's  track, 
And  that  has  made  my  back  so  black." 


THE    BIRD    OF    BOUQUET. 


65 


l"  And  what  has  made  your  wings  so  white  ?  ' 
The  little  boy  said,  as  the  bird  took  its  flight. 

The  woodpecker  said,  ere  it   pissed   out  of  sight, 
"I've  flown  where  the  Highlanders  won  the  great 

fight, 
And  that  has  made  my  wings  so  white." 

"  What  is  your  name,  oh,  tell  to  me, 
Before  you  peck  another  dead  tree  ?  " 

The  bird  afar  was  heard  to  say, 

'40h,  I  am  the  tricolored  bird  of  Bouquet,* 

Who  led  the  Highlanders  on  to  the  fray  !  " 


*  A  monument  to  the  memory  of  Bouquet,  remains 
in  the  City  of  Pittsburgh  to-day  —  a  redoubt,  construct 
ed  by  him  in  1764,  built  of  brick,  surmounted  at  the 
square  with  heavy  timbers  pierced  for  muskets,  and 
still  in  a  good  state  of  preservation.  The  following  il 
lustration  is  exact  except  in  the  particular  of  the  tablet, 
which  has  been  removed  to  Municipal  Hall. 


MEGGIE    STINSOX. 


—  I76i  — 

MEGG1E  S  TIN  SON. 


The  year  sncceeding  his  decisive  victory  at  Bushy 
Run,  Colonel  Bouquet  marched  an  army  from  Fort  Pitt 
into  the  heart  of  the  Indian  country,  the  forks  of  the 
Muskingum.  Here  the  savages,-  overawed  by  his  prow 
ess  and  success,  sued  for  peace,  and  surrendered  all  the 
white  prisoners  which  they  had  taken  and  which  were 
still  alive  among  them.  As  many  as  two  hundred  and 
six  persons  were  delivered  thereby  to  their  friends,  and 
many  and  touching  were  the  scenes  of  their  re 
union.  Among  the  young  women  given  up  was  Meggie 
Stinson,  or  .Stevenson,  who  had  been  taken  into  captiv 
ity  when  a  child  beyond  her  recollection;  and  Avho, 
when  recognized  by  her  overjoyed  and  aged  mother, 
shrank  from  her  as  from  a  stranger  of  another  blood,  for 
days  and  weeks,  until  she  made  an  effort  to  return  to 
her  savage  life  in  the  woods,  to  avoid  the  old  woman's 
unaccountable  appeal  to  her  for  a  daughter's  recogni 
tion.  When,  at  length,  at  the  suggestion  of  Bouquet, 
the  mother  sang  the  songs  with  which  she  had  soothed 
to  sleep  her  child  in  her  arms,  and  awakened  the  recol 
lection  of  the  captive  to  a  life  that  knew  a  mother's 
love,  effecting  finally  a  complete  restoration  of  the 
young  woman  to  herself  and  her  mother  now 
almost  delirious  with  joy. 

In  the  histories  of  the  expedition  of  Bouquet,  the 
mother  of  the  captive  is  said  to  have  been  a  German,  a 
native  of  Bentlingen,  in  Wittemberg,  and  the  name  of 
the  captive  Regina,  which  is  doubtless  the  fact;  but,  in 
order  to  preserve  a  local  and  traditionary  variation,  as 
well  as  to  have  a  companion  song  to  "The  Piper  Lad,'' 
I  have  given  the  Scottish  in  preference  to  the  German 
version,  which,  in  the  form  of  a  Sunday-school  book, 
is  known  widely  and  well. 


Dochrer,  dear,  oh,  dinna  flee  me  ! 

Mither's  hand's  nae  fearfu'  grip  ; 
Dochter,  dear,  oh  diuna  dree  me  ! 

Mither's  heart  braks  o'  my  lip  :  — 
Dinna  ken  auld  age  and  care 
Blear  the  e'e  and  pu'  the  hair? 
Oh,  dinna  ken  your  ain  bluid's  mfther 


THE    IRISH    CONVICT. 


Frae  anither 

Greetin'  sair? 

Lullaby!   lullaby! 

Sleep,  my  bairnie, 
Lullaby. 

Diuna  mind  your  daddy's  daffiu' — 
liidin'  straidelt  o'  his  knee; 

Brither  tooinblin',  sister  laughin'. 
Towser  ocourin1  ower  the  lea? 

Diuna  mind  the  cosy  nest 

O'  your  mither's  fauldin'  breast  ? 

Oh,  dinna  mind  your  mither's  croonin'— 

Sorrow  drooriin' 

A1  in  rest? 

Lullaby!  lullaby! 

Sk>ep,  my  bairnie, 
Lullaby. 

€lose  your  een  sae  wild  and  eerie 

Ance  mair  in  this  breast  o'  mine, — 

Ance  mair  mither's  bairnie  weary 

Hear  the  sangs  o'  auld  lang  syne. — 

God  for  evermair  be  blest ! 

Wakit  heart  is  beatin'  fast ! 

Mither's  sang  her  bairn's  bluid  rins  in  ! 

Meggie  Stinson ! 

%        Found  at  last ! 

Lullaby!  lullaby! 

Sleep,  my  bairnie, 
Lullaby. 


—  1765  — 

THE  IRISH   CONVICT. 

"The  Indian  traders  used  to  buy  the  transported 
Irish,  and  other  convicts,  as  servants,  to  be  employed  in 
carrying  up  the  goods  among  the  Indians;  many 
of  these  ran  away  from  their  masters,  and 


68  THE    IRISH    CONVICT. 


joined  the  Indians.  The  ill  behavior  of  these 
people  has  always  hurt  the  character  of  the 
English  among  the  Indians.''— RUPP. 

The  peace  of  ten  years,  which  followed  the  victory  of 
Bouquet  at  Bushy  Run,  opened  the  valley  of  the  Mis 
sissippi  to  the  English  trader  without  molestation  from 
the  French,  but  not  from  the  treacherous  savage,  greedy 
for  scalps  and  spoils,  or  frenzied  with  rum,  which,  with 
ammunition,  formed  the  chief  articles  given  in  ex 
change  for  peltry ,  so  that  the  following  fiction,  in 
the  particular  of  the  killing  of  the  trader,  may  be 
looked  upon  as  a  fact. 

In  1770,  according  to  a  statement  made  by  Washing 
ton,  in  the  journal  of  his  second  visit  to  the  forks  of  the 
Ohio,  the  future  city  of  Pittsburgh  comprised  about 
twenty  log  houses  which  were  inhabited  solely 
by  Indian  traders. 


Och,  blood  an'  'ounds,  ye  imps  of  the  divil, 
Can't  ye  quet  yer  jabb'rin',  be  daycent,  and  civil? 
There,  hould  off  yer  hand  from  yer   murderin' 

gun  !  — 
Can't  ye  hear  my  knees  spake  that  I  can't  stand 

to  run  ? 

Och,  honey,  ye  spalpeens,  yer  mightily  frisky, 
AVith  only  a  sniff  of  my  good  Irish  whisky ! 
There,  put  yer  dry  lips  to  the  keg  on  my  showther, 
And  the  de'il  take  yer  smokin'   so   close  to  my 
powther ! 

Faith,  a  tight  Irish  lad  I  am,  frish  from  the  sod, 
Shipped  over  the  say  for  the  ould  country's  good ; 
With  divil  a  groat  for  my  passage  to  pay, 
And  a  lord  lookin'  after  my  hil^th  every  day  ! 

Whin  I  landed,  och  hone,  what  a  wilcome  I  found, 
Civility,  blarney,  attintion  all  round  ! 
Sure,  it  wasn't  a  tuppence  at  Cork  I'd  a  brought, 
But  here,  for  tin   pounds,  by   the  pow'rs,  I   was 
bought ! 


THE   IRISH    CONVICT.  69 

And  thin  what  an  illigant  gintleman  came, 

And  "Paddy,11  says  he  —  says   he,   "what's  yer 

name?" 

"Yer  worship,"  says  I,  "I  can't  be  too  sartin  ; 
But  I  think  its  My  Eye  and  Betty  Martin  !  " 

Thin  this  illtgant  gintleman  went  to  a  store, 
And  "Paddy,  yer  dry,"  says   he.    "That   I  am, 

sure !  " 
Whin  a  keg  of   ould   whisky  he  clapped  on   my 

back, 
And  strapped  it  there  tight  with  a  whang  and  a 

whack  ] 

Thin   "Paddy,"  says   he,  "are  ye   'feard  of   the 

smell"— 

''Of  nothing,"  says  I  —  says  I,  "barrin'  hell!" 
"Thin,     Paddy,"    says    he,    "rest    this    on    yer 

showther; " 
And  he  strapped  by   the  whisky  a   keg  of   gun- 

powther ! 

Thin,    "Paddy,"    says   he,   "are  ye  spoilin'  for 

work  ?  " 
"Yer  honor."   says  I,   "what  brought  me  from 

Cork?"   " 
Thin  "  Paddy,"  says  he,  "just  to  lave  yer  hands 

rest, 
I'll  bind  one  on  yer  back  and  one  on  yer  chest ! " 

"Now,  Paddy,"  says  he,  " lest  ye  lose  yer  way, 
I'll  travel  along  with  ye  day  after  day ;  " 
So,  over  the  mountains,  we  jogged  side  by  side, 
When    crack  !    wint  a  gun,  and   the   gintlemau 
died! 

Ah,  thin  by  myself  I  was  left  all  alone, 

Like    an    orphan    at   say  in   a   strange  land    of 

stone, 
Whin    these     dirty     divils  —  yer    worships,    I 

mane, 
Took  compassion  on  me  in  my  murderin'  pain. 


70  BALD    EAGLE. 


But  och,  blood  an'  'ounds,  can't  ye  cut  off  these 

thongs  ? 

And  hould  to  yer  divil's  own  jabberin'  tongues? 
Or   spake    that    a    scholar    may    hear    what    ye 

mane  — 
And  honey,  my  darlint,  don't  do  that  again  ! 

You,  you,  ye  ould  smoke-dried  —  Yer  honor,  I 

beg, 

Will  not  knock  off  yer  ashes  again  on  this  keg ! 
Sure,  didn't  I  tell  yes,  I  had  on  my  showther 
But  one  keg  of  whisky  and  one  of  gun-powther? 

Och,  murther  !  —  Ye  blackguard,  it's  well  for  yer 

hide, 
I'm    alone    by    myself    with     my    hands    nately 

tied  ! 
Can't  ye  drink  of  the  one,  now,  without  —  Holy 

Mother ! 
Presarve  us,  and  keep   his   ould   pipe   from   the 

other ! 


—  1766  — 

BALD  EAGLE. 


"  Bald  Eagle  was  an  inoffensive  old  Deleware  war 
rior.  He  was  on  intimate  terms  with  the  early  settlers, 
with  whom  he  hunted,  fished  and  visited.  He  was  well- 
known  along  the  Monongahela  river,  up  and  down 
which  he  frequently  passed  in  his  canoe.  Somewhere 
up  the  river,  probably  about  the  mouth  of  Cheat,  he  was 
killed  —  by  whom,  and  at  what  pretence,  is  unknown. 
His  dead  body,  placed  upright  in  his  canoe,  with  a 
piece  of  corn- bread  in  his  clenched  teeth,  was  set  adrift 
on  the  river.  The  canoe  came  ashore  at  Provance's  Bot 
tom,  where  the  familiar  old  Indian  was  at  once  recog 
nized  by  the  wife  of  William  Yard  Provance,  who  won 
dered  he  did  not  leave  his  canoe.  On  closer  observa 
tion,  she  found  he  was  dead.  She  had  him  decently 
buried  on  the  Fayette  shore,  near  the  residence  of  Rob 
ert  McClean,  at  what  was  known  as  McClean's  Ford. 
This  murder  was  regarded,  both  by  whites  and  Indians, 


BALD    EAGLE. 


as  a  great  outrage,  and  the  latter  made  it  a  prominent 
item  in  their  list  of  unavenged  grievances."—  VEECH. 


With  the  sun's  first  beam,  the  barefooted  boy 
Hails  the  hoary  chieftain's  coming  with  joy  ; 
But  his  voice  is  choked  in  wonder  and  fright 
When  he  sees  a  wild  bird  with  its  mate  alight 
On  the  drooping  shoulders  and  snow-white  head, 
And  take  from  the  mouth  of  a  dead  man,  bread  ! 

At  noon,  when  the  sage  has  come  into  view, 

The  father  awaits  the  birch  canoe  ; 

And  his  cheek  turns  pale  and  his  voice  is  dumb 

When  to  his  welcoming  no  words  come. 

And  lo !  till  the  sage  has  swept  by  with  the  flood, 

It  is  felt  but  not  spoken  —  "It  bodes  no  good  !:: 

While  the  mother  advancing,  looks  now  at the  boat, 
And  then  at  the  father  —  his  fears  to  note, 
Till  the  milk  in  her  bosom  is  checked  jn  its  flood, 
And  the  babe  at  her  breast  stains   its   lips   with 

her  blood  ; 

Yet  she  heeds  not  its  biting  and  hears  not  its  cry, 
While  she  sees  in   the   white    hairs    its    shroud 

drifting  by. 

So,  late  in  the  evening,  the  grandsire  stands, 
And  beckons  the  boatman  with  trembling  hands  ; 
And  shouts  in  a  whisper,  and  strains  his  eyes, 
Till,  more  within  than  without  he  descries, — 
The  phantom  of  Man  in  a  boat  on  Time's  river 
Drifting   on    through    the   night  to    the    Sea    of 
Forever  ! 

At  midnight,  hark  !  a  knock  is  heard  — 
Or  is  it  the  wing  of  a  startled  bird 
That  blindly  beats  at  the  cabin's  wall  ? 
And  listen  !  hush  !     Is  it  a  call  ! 
And  that  the  death-whoop  ?  —  or  the  howl 
Of  the  worrying  wolf?  —  or  only  an  owl  ? 


72  WESTMORELAND. 

The  morning  dawns  \  and  the  fatherTs  brawn 

Is  broiling  on  the  threshold  stone  : 

His  gun-barrel  grasped  in  his  eager  grip  ; 

His  look  of  defiance  burnt  into  his  lip  ; 

While  the  grandsire's  bones  are   crumbling  and 

white 
In   the  ash   of   the   bed   where  he  slept  in   the 

night. 

While  the  barefooted  boy,  with  a  bloody  track. 
And  with  pinioned  hands,  and  a  burdened   back7 
Files  into  the  forest  the  savage's  slave  \ 
While  the  mother  kneels  in  vain  to  save  — 
The  milk,  oozing  out  of  her  undrained  pap, 
Trickling  into  the  brains  of  the  babe  in  her  lap  ! 

Ah,  woe  the  day,  when  Murder  forsook 
Its  garb  of  guilt  and  its  secret  look, 
And  stalked,  in  fantastic  robe,  abroad 
A  mockery  of  man  and  God  — 
When,  down  the  river  that  flows  from  the  South, 
Came  the  Bald  Eagle's  corpse  with  corn-bread  in 
its  mouth  ! 


—  1773  — 

WESTMORELAND. 


The  County  of  Westmoreland  was  erected  in  the 
thirteenth  year  of  the  reign  of  George  III.,  by  an  act 
passed  on  the  26th  day  of  February,  1773.  It  comprised 
at  first  the  greater  part  of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania, 
but  has  been  divided  since  into  several. 


The  Little  World  was  a  wild,  wild  wood, 

Without  or  shape  or  laws, 
When  George  the  Third  declared  the  word. 

And  lo  !  Westmoreland  was  ! 


THE   WHIPPING-POST.  73 

—  1773  — 

THE   WHIPPING-POST. 


I  attempt  to  locate  the  house  of  Robert  Hanna 
where  the  courts  were  held;  but  in  vain.  Pondering 
about  it,  however,  as  I  go  along,  I  cannot  refrain  from. 
seeing  in  fancy  several  scenes  which  fixed  themselves 
in  my  memory  from  a  perusal  of  the  musty  old  records 
in  the  archives  at,  Greensburg  which  report  them.  I 
fancy  I  hear  the  hasty  stroke  of  the  heavy  lash,  and  the 
responsive  shriek  of  the  barebacked  sufferers,  on  that 
eventful  day,  sacred  to  the  lash  in  these  old  annals,  the 
eighth  of  October,  1773,  when,  at  the  public  whipping 
post  James  Brigland  received  twenty  lashes  well  laid  on 
( the  day  before  he  got  ten  as  an  appetizer,)  Luke  Picket 
received  twenty -one,  and  Patrick.  John  Masterson  fif 
teen. —  Reveries  of  a  Hambler  from  Oreensburg  to  Han- 
nastoivn,  in  1874. 

The  record  of  this  eventful  day  for  the  lash,  referred 
to  in  the  above  citation,  is  as  follows:  transcribed  as  it 
has  been  penned  in  the  Docket  of  the  Quarter  Sessions 
of  Westmoreland  county,  by  Arthur  St.  Clair,  the  first 
prothonotary  and  clerk  of  the  courts,  of  the  county:  of 
whom  and  the  first  presiding  judge,  Colonel  William 
Crawford,  more  anon.* 

The  King 

v 
James  Brigland 

Felony,  ( true  Bill ) 

Defendant  being   arraigned   pleads  Guilty  and 
Submits  to  the  Court 

Judgment  that  the  said  James  Brigland  be  taken  the 
eighth  Instant  between  the  hours  of  eight  &  ten  in  the 
Morning  to  the  Public  Whipping  Post  and  there  to  re 
ceive  20  lashes  on  his  Bare  Back  well  laid  on  that  he  pay 
a  fine  of  six  shillings  to  his  Honour  the  Governor  that 
[he]  make  Restitution  of  the  Goods  stolen  to  the  owner 
<fc  pay  the  costs  of  prosecution  &  stand  committed  till 
complied  with. 

The  King 

v 
Luke  Picket 

Felony,  (ti-ue  bill ) 

Defendant  being  arraigned  pleads  non  Cul  de  hoc 

Att'y  Genl.    Simileter  &  issue 

And  now  a  Jury  being  called  came  to  wit,  James 
Kincade,  William  Lyon,  John  Armstrong,  Henry  Mar- 


THK  WHIPPING -POST. 


(in,  William  Linn,  Robert  Meeks,  James  Carnaughan-,. 
Joseph  McDowel,  Lewis  Davison,  William,  Davison,. 
John  Wright  &  Alexander  Dugless  who  being  duly  im- 
pannelled,  returned,  elected  tried  chosen  sworn  and  up 
on  their  respective  Oaths  do  say  that  Luke  Picket  is 
Guilty  of  the  Felony  whereof  he  stands  Indicted. 

Judgment  that  the  said  Luke  Picket  be  taken  to- 
Morrow  Morning  (being  the  8th  Instant)  between  the 
hours  of  eight  &  ten  to  the  Public  Whipping  Post  and, 
there  to  receive  21  Lashes  on  his  Bare  Back  well  laid  on,. 
that  he  pay  a  tine  of  .-£32..1..0  to  his  Honour  the  Gov 
ernor  that  he  make  Restitution  of  the  Goods  stolen  to» 
the  Owner,  pay  the  Costs  of  Prosecution  and  stand  com 
mitted  till  complied'  with. 

The  King 

v 

Patrick  John  Mas  terser? 
Felony  ( true  Bill ) 

Defendant  being  arraigned1  pleads  norr    Cul  de- 
hoe    Att'y  Genl.  Si  mil  Her  &  issue. 
[  The  same  jury  as  above  was  impaneled.] 

Judgment  that  the  said  Patrick  John  Masterson  be 
taken  to  Morrow  Morning  (being  the  eighth  Instant) 
between  the  hours  of  eight  &  ten  to  the  Public  Whip 
ping  Post  and  there  receive  15  Lashes  on  his  Bare  Back 
well  laid  on  that  he  pay  a  fine  of  £5.. 10.,  to  his  Honour 
the  Governor  that  he  make  Restitution  of  the  Goods 
stolen  to  the  owner  &  pay  the  costs  of  prosecution  & 
stand  committed  till  complied  with. 


The  candle  burned  with  a  waning  light 

Till  it  flickered  in  the  socket, 
While  I  poured  o'er  the  page  that  ™s  musty  wjtt 

Of  the  Quarter  Sessions'  Docket  — 

Of  the  courts  that  were  held  at  Hanna's  inn, 

From  early  morn  till  dark, 
When  Crawford  sate  in  ermined  state, 

And  Arthur  St.  Clair  was  clerk. 

When  hark  !  as  I  read,  with  a  heavy  head, 

And  closing  lids,  I  heard  — 
As  in  a  dream  —  the  Court  condemn 

In  the  name  of  George  the  Third  ! 


THE    WHIPPING-POST.  TO 


And  behold  !  there  appeared  a  felon,  bared, 

As  a  babe  at  birth,  to  the  waist, 
Who,  with  iron  bands  about  his  hands, 

To  the  whipping- post  was  braced  ! 

And  at  his  back  a  man  of  might,    4 

With  an  'Uplifted  lash. 
That,  with  the  word  that  was  spoken  and  heard, 

Descend-ed  like  a  flash  ! 

•Great  God  !  to  hear  the  felon's  shriek 

That  echoed  in  the  wood  ; 
And  to  see  the  gash  in  the  quivering  flesh 

That  overflowed  with  blood  1 

Again  and  again  the  lash  came  down, 

Till  the  clerk  told  one  and  a  score  — 

Till  the  shriek  decreased  until  it  ceased, 
And  the  ba-ck  ran  red  with  gore ! 

When  the  reeking  wretch  from  the  post  WiK  unbound, 

And  led  back  to  his  cell ; 
His  God  hence  the  Devil,  the  spirit  of  evil, 

And  his  future  forever,  hell ! 

When  lo !  the  guard  with  another  appeared, 

And  bound  him  to  the  stake  ; 
And  five  aod  ten  lashes  and  five  and  ten  gashes 

Another  demon  make. 

And  still  a  third  at  the  stake  was  bared, 

And  the  lash  came  down  again  ; 
Till,  gashed  in  gore,  a  horrid  score 

Have  cut  out  the  soul  of  a  man  ! 

The  while  a  throng  of  old  and  young 
Applauded  with  cheers  the  toast  — 

Hell,  after  death,  is  an  empty  breath, 
Give  us  the  whipping-post ! 

Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  in  letters  of  red, 

Let  it  recorded  be, 
This  glorious  date,  October  Eight, 

Of  Seventeen,  seventy-three  ! 


76  THE    WHIPPING-POST. 

When  lo !  the  vision  dissolved  into  haze  ! 

And  alone  in  the  forest  I  stood  ; 
And  behold  !  the  Frost  made  a  whipping-post 

Of  every  tree  in  the  wood ! 

The  gum,  the  maple,  and  the  oak 

Stood  like  the  felons  of  old, 
Until  the  wood  was  red  with  blood 

And  the  horrid  score  was  told  ! 

Until  the  wind,  that  sighed  in  the  leaves, 

Sank  deep  into  my  soul  — 
Like  a  gasping  groan  or  a  stifled  moan 

In  a  death-delaying  dole. 

When  lo  !  in  letters  as  red  as  blood, 

Appeared,  in  every  tree, 
The  recorded  date,  October  Eight, 

Of  Seventeen,  seventy  three  ! 

And  what  tho'  I  woke,  from  my  dream  o'er  the  page 
Of  the  book  that  before  me  lay, 

October's  frost  makes  a  whipping-post 
Of  the  forest  trees  to  this  day.f 


*  At  the  particular  sessions,  at  which  Brigland, 
Picket,  and  Masterson  were  found  guilty  and  sentenced, 
Thomas  Gest,  Esquire,  presided,  though  at  the  sessions 
immediately  preceding  and  succeeding  William  Craw 
ford,  Esquire,  sate  as  the  president  of  the  associated  jus 
tices  present  who  composed  the  court.  Thomas  Gesfc 
was  a  son  of  "Bold"  Christopher  Gist,  the  guide  of 
Washington  —  v.  a.,  pp.  27-30. 

t  Mem.—  On  the  23rd  of  February,  1775,  at  Fort 
Dunmore  —  as  Fort  Pitt  was  called  by  the  Virginians  — 
one  Luke  Joliff  was  tried  for  deserting  from  the  militia 
with  a  stand  of  arms  and  preventing  the  Indians  from 
returning  prisoners  held  by  them,  found  guilty,  and 
sentenced  to  receive/ive  hundred  lashes  with  a  cat-o'-nine 
tails  on  his  bare  back,  well  laid  on,  at  such  times  and  in 
such  manner  as  not  to  endanger  life  and  member!  This 
is  the  number  lacking  one  by  miscount,  which  General 
Daniel  Morgan,  the  celebrated  commander  of  the  Rifle 
men  of  the  Revolution,  is  said  to  have  received  as  a  mil 
itary  punishment  on  one  occasion. 


FROM    POST    TO    PILLAR. 


—  1774  — 

FROM  POST  TO  PILLAR. 


What  a  sickening,  shuddering  scene  fora  town  in 
Pennsylvania!  Three  miserable  human  beings,  tared 
to  the  waist,  and -cut  with  every  descending  la«h  to  the 
•quivering  flesh  beneath  the  ruptured  skin,  till  their 
•blood  flowed  to  the  ground,  and  their  cries  of  agony  rent 
the  air  throughout  the  compass  of  the  village!  But  such 
•scenes  were  alas !  too  common  at  that  early  day;  and 
the  people  were  enured  to  them  and  in  a  great  degree 
rendered  callous  to  human  woe.  On  a  freezing  day  in 
.January,  the  following  year,  one  William  Howard  was 
bared  at  the  post,  and  received  no  less  than  thirty-nine 
lashes,  and  then  was  made  to  stand  one  hour  in  the 
common  pillory  —  from  post  to  pillar,  with  a  vengeance, 
and  all  lor  iarceny  to  which  he  pleaded  guilty  I  —  Rever 
ies  of  a  Rambler  Jrom  Gretnsburg  to  Hwmastown,  in  1874. 

The  official  entry  of  this  occurrence,  in  the  Quarter 
Sessions  Docket,  of  Westmoreland  county,  for  January, 
1774,  is  as  follows  —  the  earliest  record,  by  the  way,  of 
the  Pillory  as  an  instrument  of  punishment  in  South 
western  Pennsylvania: 

The  King 

v 
William  Howard 

Felony  (true  Bill) 

Deft,  being  arraigned  pleads  Guilty  &  Submits  to 

the  Court. 

Judgment  that  the  said  William  Howard  be  taken 
to  Morrow  Morning  between  the  hours  of  10<fc  12  in  the 
forenoon  to  the  Public  Whipping  Post  <fe  there  to  receive 
39  Lashes  on  his  Bare  Back  well  laid  on  and  then  to  be 
taken  to  the  common  Pillory  and  there  to  stand  one 
Hour  that  he  make  Restitution  of  the  Goods  stolen  & 
pay  a  fine  of  £  20  to  his  Honour  the  Governor  &  that  he 
be  imprisoned  for  the  space  of  six  Months  &  that  he  pay 
the  costs  of  Prosecution  &  stand  committed  until  com 
plied  with. 


"  Come  one  and  all  !  "  the  children  bawl 
And  put  the  case  in  brief  — 

"  Come  to  the  court  and  see  the  sport 
With  Billy  Howard,  the  thief!  " 


78  FORT    DUN  MORE. 


Oh,  what  a  day  for  Hannastown, 

Tho'  the  wind  blows  chilly  and  raw, — 

Behold  the  guard  with  the  felon  bared 
For  the  lashes  of  the  law  ! 

And  what  a  sight  for  the  boys  and  girls, 

The  lashes  well  laid  on, 
Till  thirty  and  nine  their  gashing  combine 

To  open  the  flesh  to  the  bone ! 

When,  from  the  post  to  the  pillory, 

The  felon,  red  with  gore, 
Is  dragged,  amid  cheers  and  ribald  jeers, 

And  forced  to  stand  an  hour  ! 

Till  the  blood,  that  oozes  from  out  the  flesh, 
Freezes,  trickling  from  the  wound, 

Into  icicles,  that,  like  tinkling  bells, 
With  every  shudder  resound  ! 

Yea,  one  and  all,  come,  children,  come  — 

Come  to  the  village  school, 
Where  you  must  learn  to  teach  in  turn 

Your  children  how  to  rule  ! 

Until  the  wrong  shall  react  in  right, 

And  Billy  Howard,  the  thief, 
Shall  have  borne  not  in  vain  his  grief  and  pain 

For  another  felon's  relief! 


—  1774  — 

FORT  DUNMORE. 


When  Dr.  John  Connolly  took  possession  of  the 
abandoned  Fort  Pitt,  in  1774,  he  rechristened  it  Fort 
Dunmore,  in  honor  of  his  friend  and  patron,  the  Gov 
ernor  of  Virginia,  in  whose  right  the  territory  of  South 
western  Pennsylvania  was  claimed.  The  name,  how 
ever,  never  came  into  general  use,  even  with  the  Earl 
and  his  partisan.  It  serves,  here,  notwithstanding,  to 
introduce  to  the  reader  two  persons  who  appear  quite 
frequently  in  the  histories  of  this  region,  Dr.  Connolly 
and  his  successor  John  Neville:  men,  in  the  estimation 


O    WICKED    DR.    CONNOLLY  !  79 


of  the  people,  antipodal  in  their  characters;  their  birth 
rights  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  the  former,  a 
Pennsylvanian,  being  detested  and  despised,  and  the 
latter,  a  Virginian,  respected  and  beloved  by  all.  The 
exploits  of  the  former,  as  detailed  by  the  Pennsylvania 
letter-writers  of  the  day,  Devereux  Smith,  .^Eneas  Mc 
Kay,  and  others,  are  summed  up  in  the  facetious  lines 
that  follow  the  quatrain  below,  and  represent  in  brief 
the  civil  strife  between  the  partisans  of  the  rival  states, 
which,  in  the  greater  conflict  between  the  Colonies  and 
the  Mother  Country  beginning  in  1775,  was  suspended 
for  the  nonce,  and,  in  effect,  forever. 


The  greatest  good  evolves  from  greatest  evil ; 
A  fellow  Grod  hath  even  every  Devil ; 
Fort  Dunmore  hath  its  Connolly  uncivil, 
And  then  the  pink  of  courtesy,  John  Neville. 


—  1774  — 

o  WICKED  DR.  CONNOLLY: 


0  wicked  Doctor  Connolly  ! 

The  de'il  will  never  get  his  due  - 
Until  he  gets  his  claws  on  you, 
To  strip  the  hide  from  off  your  back, 
And  roast  you  till  your  inside's  black  ! 

You,  wicked  Doctor  Connolly  ! 

How  could  you  ever  do  so  ? 

Shoot  down  the  people's  cows  and  hogs, 
And  treat  the  people  worse  than  dogs ; 
Press  horses  —  yea,  and  meddle  with 
The  universal  clan  of  Smith  ? 

You,  daring  Doctor  Connolly  ! 

Where  was  your  boasted  chivalry  — 
To  point  your  guns  at  unarmed  men  ; 
To  curse,  across  the  mountains.  Penn, 
And  draw  your  sword  in  open  day 
And  prick  the  flesh  of  Dame  McKay  ? 

You,  varmint  of  Virginia  ! 


8'0  O1   WICKED    DK.    CONNOLLY  f 

How  could  you  ever  do  so  — 

Disturb  the  peace  with  midnight  scares  \ 
Shoot  at  the  friendly  Delawares  \ 
Break  into  houses,  rob,  and  steal, 
And  put  Westmoreland's  Court  in  jail, 

And  liberate  her  prisoners? 

Tis  well  the  Revolution 

Came  when  it  did  to  check  your  course r 
And  save  your  neck  —  if  nothing  worse 
To  end  the  war  you  had  in  view 
Between  the  state  that  hired  you, 

And  your  own  Pennsylvania  1 

0  wicked  Doctor  Connolly  f 

The  de'il  will  never  get  his  due, 
Until  he  gets  his  claws  on  you, 
To  strip  the  hide  from  off  your  back, 
And  roast  you  till  your  inside's  black  I 

You,  varmint  of  Virginia  ! 


*  Not  to  lose  sight  of  the  association  of  South 
western  Pennsylvania  with  the  Colonies,  during  the 
Revolution,  through  the  machinations  of  this  very  Dr. 
Connolly,  keeping  the  importance  of  the  post  at  the 
head  of  the  Ohio  constantly  in  the  mind  of  the  British 
through  the  Earl  of  Dunmore,  and  of  the  Americans 
through  Washington  and  others,  the  reader  will  please 
note  the  following  citation  — 

"  On  the  22d  day  of  November,  1775,  Connolly  and  two 
of  his^associates,  were  arrested  at  Frederick  town,  Mary 
land.  His  connection  with  the  British  General  Gage, 
and  Lord  Dunmore,  and  the  whole  of  his  plans  for  in 
vading  the  western  frontier  with  British  troops  and  In 
dians,  and  taking  possession  of  Fort  Pitt,  were  fully  ex 
posed.  He  was,  therefore,  confined,  and  subsequently, 
by  order  of  Congress,  for  greater  security,  sent  to  Phila 
delphia.  His  arrest  and  confinement  probably  broke  up 
the  whole  scheme  which  he  had  prepared,  and  in 
which  he  was  to  be  the  controlling  spirit.  Con 
nolly,  after  the  Revolution,  resided  in  Canada;  where 
he  enjoyed  the  confidence  and  liberality  of  the  Eng 
lish  Government."—  CKAIG. 


LOGAN.  81 

—  1771  — 

LOGAN. 


In  the  year  1774.  the  eve  of  the  Revolution,  the  his 
tory  of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania  presents  a  tripartite 
interest  which  I  shall  endeavor  here  to  present  to  the 
reader.  First,  the  interest  attached  to  the  growth  of 
Westmoreland  county  in  its  infancy,  for  the  time  being, 
lashed  at  the  whipping-post  and  stood  in  the  pillory. 
Second,  the  conflict  between  the  partisans  of  Vii-ginia 
and  Pennsylvania,  amounting  almost  to  civil  war,  and 
concentrating  about  Fort  Dunmore  and  Doctor  Connolly. 
And  third,  the  Indian  war,  popularly  called  Lord  Dun- 
more's  war,  which  affected  the  frontier  generally:  the 
morning  thereof  being  represented  in  the  murder  of 
Bald  Eagle  and  the  evening  in  the  celebrated  speech  of 
Logan,  the  Mingo  chief,  delivered,  through  Col.  John 
Gibson,  to  Lord  Dunmore,  at  the  close  of  the  war, 
and  here  reproduced,  with  scarcely  a  transposi 
tion,  in  blank  verse. 

After  the  close  of  Dunmore's  war,  Logan  —  so  called, 
after  James  Logan,  a  conspicuous  man  in  the  province 
of  Pennsylvania  in  his  day  —  became  gloomy  and  mel 
ancholy,  and,  resorting  to  the  intoxicating  cup,  mani 
fested  symptoms  of  mental  derangement.  On  his  way 
from  Detroit  to  Miami,  he  was  murdered. 

With  regard  to  the  authenticity  of  the  speech,  which 
has  been  questioned  by  many,  I  have  nothing  to  say  be 
yond  this  that  I  deem  it  apossibility  ;  and  that  is  a  fact 
however  improbable,  to  a  poet.  Logan  himself  was  a 
grand  fact  —  an  Indian  never  surpassed  by  any  of  his 
nation,  for  magnanimity  in  war,  and  greatness  of  soul 
in  peace.  And  the  speech  in  itself  is  a  magnificent  fact 
that  has  attracted  the  admiration  of  several  of  the 
most  distinguished  orators  of  America,  and  let  that 
suffice :  here  it  shall. 


A  century  has  passed  ;  still,  with  bowed  heads, 

Attentive  ears,  and  sympathetic.hearts, 

The  murderers  of  the  Mingo  chief,  in  their 

Descendants,  weep  for  the  unhappy  man, 

Who,  e'er  the  knife  cut  out  his  heart  and  tongue, 

Hose,  in  despair,  into  the  azure  of 

Sublimity,  to  pass  away  a  name  — 


82  THE    DUCKING-STOOL, 


A  name  immortal,  while  the  heart  of  Man, 
Within  the  Living,  lives  again  the  Dead. 

To  any  white  man,  I  appeal  —  If  e'er 

He  entered  Logan's  cabin  hungry,  and 

He  gave  not  meat  to  him  ;  or,  if  he  e'er 

Came  cold  and  naked,  and  he  clothed    him    not? 

During  the  course  of  the  last  bloody  war, 
Within  his  cabin,  Logan  sate,  for  peace 
An  advocate.     Such  was  his  love  for  th*    whites, 
His  countrymen,  when  passing,  pointing,  said, 
See,  Logan  is  the  friend  of  the  white  men  ! 

I  even  had  thought  to  live  with  you  —  and  had, 

But  for  the  injuries  of  one  white  roan. 

The  last  spring,  Colonel  Cressap,  in  cold  blood, 

And  unprovoked,  killed  all  the  relatives 

Of  Logan,  sparing  not  my  wife  and  children  ! 

There  runs  a  drop  of  Logan's  blood  not  in 
The  veins  of  any  other  living  creature  ! 

This  called  for  vengeance  !  I  have  sought 
It :      I  have  murdered  many  :      I  have  glut 
My  vengeance  fully  ;  yet,  I  now  rejoice 
For  Logan's  country  at  the  beams  of  peace. 

But  harbor  not  the  thought  that  Logan's  joy 
Ts  that  of  fear  ;  for  Logan  ne'er  felt  fear  : 
He'd  turn  not  on  his  heel  to  save  his  life. 
For  who  is  there  to  mourn  for  Logan  ?     None ! 


—  1775  — 

THE  DUCKING-STOOL. 


"  The  ducking-stool  for  Youghiogheny  county  was 
erected  at  the  confluence  of  the  Ohio  and  the  Mononga- 
hela  rivers  on  February  22nd,  177.V— CREIGH.  That  is, 
off  the  Point  at  Pittsburgh:  the  Allegheny  river,  a 
hundred  years  ago,  being  called  frequently  the  Ohio; 
while  the  county  of  Youghiogheny,  (one  of  the  three 


THE    DUCKING-STOOL.  83 


erected  in  Southwestern  Pennsylvania  by  Virginia,  in 
the  assertion  of  her  claim  to  this  region,)  before  its  ex 
tinction  in  October,  1775,  embraced  the  territory  now 
included  in  the  City  of  Pittsburgh.  While  the  date  in 
timates  that  an  immediate  use  for  the  instrument  was 
required  for  the  correction  of  a  common  scold  no  longer 
to  be  endured  —  with  the  usual  result,  as  follows. 


Kesouse  J   the  ducking  stool  went  down 

Into  the  freezing  river; 
But  still  the  scold,  though  wet  and  cold, 

Railed  on  as  fast  as  ever ! 

Kesouse  !  the  stool  went  down  again, 

Into  the  slush-ice  splashing  : 
But  still  the  hag,  with  never  a  gag, 

Kept  up  her  vile  tongue-lashing ! 

Kesouse  I  a  third  time,  for  the  charm, 

Down  to  the  very  bottom  ; 
But  worse  and  worse,  the  drab  to  curse 

Began  with  a  uDod  rot  'em  !  " 

Kesouse  !  —  Now  let  the  stool  stay  down, 
And  save  us  further  trouble  !  — 

But  still  her  tongue  assailed  the  throng 
In  every  rising  bubble ! 

Until  the  ice  of  Februeer 

Closed  firm  and  fast  above  her, 

And  in  her  corse,  cut  cut  perforce, 
None  can  but  death  discover ! 

When  hark!  upon  the  cooling-board. 

The  corse  began  to  cough  ! 
And  then,  her  jaw,  the  first  to  thaw, 

Went  on  where  she'd  left  off! 

The  ducking-stool,  at  once  condemned, 

Was  into  kindling  cut ; 
And  the  mouth  of  the  scold  of  the  days  of  old 

Has  never  since  been  shut. 


84  ELIZABETH    SMITH. 


Except  beneath  the  ice  of  death. 

To  be  opened  sometime  later, 
When  the  corpse  on  the  board  again  is  heard 

In  her  begotten  daughter  ! 

But  who  was  the  scold?     Ah,  hapless  wight, 

No  longer  worry  and  bother  ; 
But  go  to  your  home  and  meet  your  doom  — 

She  was  your  dear  wife's  mother  ! 


—  1775  — 

ELIZABETH  SMITH. 


But  what  were  these  cases  of  brutality  and  misery, 
to  that  of  Elizabeth  Smith,  at  which,  at  the  mere  recol  - 
lection,  the  blood  curdles  and  the  brows  contract  in  bit 
ter  denunciation  of  the  fiendish  legal  outrage?  This  pool- 
woman  was  an  indentured  servant  to  James  Kinkaid. 
She  was  convicted  of  larceny,  and  her  judgment  was 
that  she  receive  fifteen  lashes  on  her  bare  back  well  laid 
on,  that  she  pay  a  fine  of  fifteen  shillings  and  five- 
pence,  make  restitution  of  the  stolen  goods,  pay  the 
costs  of  prosecution,  and  be  committed  to  jail  until  the 
penalties  are  complied  with.  A  woman  under  the  lash  ! 
Think  of  it,  who  can,  without  a  boiling  of  his  blood  in 
indignation  ?  But  this  is  not  all.  This  poor  woman 
was  imprisoned  for  two  years,  and  at  the  expiration  of 
that  period,  the  court  decreed  that  she  should  serve  her 
master  two  years  beyond  her  indenture,  to  recompense 
him  for  the  time  she  had  lost  in  jail !  Nor  is  this  all; 
for  it  appears  that,  at  the  session  of  the  court  which  re 
leased  her  from  the  confinement  of  the  jail  and  resti 
tuted  her  to  a  prolonged  bondage  under  a  heartless  and 
mercenary  master  —  at  this  very  court,  a  grand  inquest 
of  the  body  of  the  county,  being  called  upon  to  inspect 
the  jail,  in  which  this  unhappy  woman  had  been  im 
prisoned  for  two  years,  they,  under  oath,  report  it  "  not 
fit  nor  sufficient  to  confine  any  person  in  without  en 
dangering  the  life  of  any  person  so  confined!"  Rut 
what  cared  a  people,  who  could  endure  the  whipping  at 
the  public  post,  of  a  woman,  naked  to  the  waist,  for  her 
milder  suffering  however  prolonged  in  a  filthy, 
noisome,  pig-sty  cell,  or  under  the  roof  of  a  bru 
tal  master? — Reveries  of  a  ]{tnnb'<>r  from  f.' 
bury  to  ffannfistown,  in  1S71. 


ELIZABETH    S.MIT11. 


A  transcript  from  the  Docket  of  the  Quarter  Sessions 
•of  Westmoreland  county,  containing  the  record  of  this 
•outrage,  is  given  herewith,  ad  verbrnn.  ad  literate  — 

OCTOBER  SESSIONS,  177- 
Th  e  King 

v 
Elizabeth  Smith 

Felony  (true   Bill)    Defendant   being  arraigned 
pleads  Guilty  &  submits  to  the  Court. 
Judgment  that  the  said   Elizabeth  Smith   be  taken 
this  afternoon  (being  the  eleventh  instant  »  between  the 
'hours  of  three  &  five  &  there  to  receive  fifteen  Laches  on 
her  Bare  Back  well   laid  on,  that  she    pay    a   fine   of 
eighteen  shillings  &  five  pence  to  his  Honour  the   Gov 
ernor  that  she  make  restitution  of  the  Goods  stolen  that 
she  pay  the  Costs  of  prosecution  -dk  stand  committed, 
until    compli'ed    with. 


At  a  Private  Sessions  held  at  the  House  of  Charles 
Foreman  in  the  County  of  Westmoreland  on  the 
•eleventh  day  of  October  Anno  Domini  one  thousand 
•seven  hundred  &  Seventy  five  before  Robert  Hanna, 
William  Lochry,  James  Cavet  &  Samuel  Sloan  Esquires 
Justices  of  the  same  Court. 

Upon  the  application  of  James  Kinkaid  to  this 
Court  setting  forth  that  his  servant  Elizabeth  Smith  had. 
been  confined  in  the  Gaol  for  Felony  a  considerable 
time  rrom  his  service,  whereby  he  was  put  to  great 
Charges  &  expenses  and  lost  the  labor  and  Service  of  the 
said  Servant  for  a  considerable  time  And  Praying  the 
Court  to  adjudge  the  said  servant  to  serve  him  &  his  as 
signs  such  reasonable  time  in  consideration  o»f  the  prem 
ises  as  to  the  Court  should  seem  meet.  It  is  considered 
by  the  Court  and  ordered  that  the  said  Servant  Eliza 
beth  Smith  do  serve  her  said  'Master  James  Kinkaid  arid 
his  assigns  for  the  space  &  time  of  two  years  from  and 
immediately  after  the  expiration  of  her  time  by  Inden 
ture,  in  full  satisfaction  and  recompence  of  the  Charges, 
expenses  and  loss  of  time  aforesaid. 


Westmoreld.  County  ss. 

We  the  Grand  Inquest  for  the  Body  of  this  County 
Being  Called  upon  by  the  Sheriff  of  the  County  To  view 
the  Gaol  of  this  County  and  upon  Examination  we  find 


86  AMERICAN    INDEPENDENCE. 

the  said  Gaol  is  not  sufficient  to  confine  anjr  Person   in 
without  endangering  the  life  of  any  Person  so  confined. 
Joseph  Beelor,  foreman. 


For  a  thousand  }^ears,  the  crimes  of  woman 

Should  be  forgiven  forthwith, 
To  balance  the  wrong  and  the  treatment  inhuman. 

Meted  out  to  Elizabeth  Smith  ! 


—  1775  — 

AMERICAN  INDEPENDENCE. 


As  soon  as  the  news  of  the  Battle  of  Lexington 
reached  the  head  of  the  Ohio,  the  civil  strife  between 
the  partisansof  Pennsylvania  and  Virginia  for.  the  pos 
session  of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania  ceased  — the  peo 
ple  generally  joining  hands  at  once  in  opposition  to  the 
Mother  Country  :  in  which  there  is  reason  to  believe  an 
uminosity  ingrown  with  their  organisms  unconsciously 
played  a  stronger  part  than  found  expression  in  their 
patriotic  resolutions;  for  t*  great  majority  of  the  popu 
lation  of  this  county  at  that  time  were  of  Scottish  and 
Irish  descent, the  subjugation  of  their  respective  coun 
tries  accordingly  rankling  in  their  blood.  At  the  several 
meetings,  held,  on  the  16th  of  May,  1775,  at  Hannastown 
and  Pittsburgh,  the  resolutions  passed  amounted  almost 
to  a  declaration  of  independence  —  those  passed  at  the 
Hannastown  meeting,  written,  doubtless,  by  Arthur  St. 
Clair,  a  few  years  hence  to  be  a  Major  General  in  the 
service  of  the  United  Colonies  in  their  assertion,  con 
taining  the  following  remarkable  paragraph:  St.  Clair, 
be  it  remembered,  being  a  Scotchman  by  birth  — 

"3d.  That  should  our  country  be  invaded  by  a  for 
eign  enemy,  or  should  troops  be  sent  from  Great  Britain 
to  enforce  the  late  arbitrary  acts  of  Parliament,  we  will 
cheerfully  submit  to  military  discipline,  and  to  the  ut 
most  of  our  power  resist  and  oppose  them,  or  either  of 
them,  and  will  coincide  with  any  plan  that  may  be 
formed  for  the  defence  of  America  in  general  and 
Pennsylvania  in  particular." 

Of  the  Virginians  who  participated  in  the  meeting 
at  Pittsburgh,  William  Crawford,  John  Neville,  and 
John  Gibson  commanded  Virginia  regiments  during 
the  revolutionary  war. 


THE    SCALP    PREMIUM.  87 


Not  only  rose  the  Colonies, 
Then  to  resist  the  injuries 
Unto  them  in  the  distance  done 
By  the  aggressive  English  throne  — 

But  Scotland,  to  avenge  her  wrong, 
Done  in  the  past,  Lord  knows  how  long, 
Came  to  the  fore  to  be  redressed, 
Rejuvenated  in  the  WtstJ 

And  Erin,  to  return  the  blow 
Laid  hard  upon  her  long  ago, 
Rose,  in  the  remembrance  of  the  sod, 
To  seek  revenge  in  the  wild  wood  ! 

For,  sow  the  seeds  of  good  or  evil, 
And,  in  despite  of  drouth  and  weevil, 
The  germs  will  swell,  the  sprouts  will  shoot, 
And  bending  boughs  will  bear  the  fruit. 


—  1780  — 

THE  SCALP  PREMIUM. 


At  three  several  times,  the  governors  of  Pennsylva 
nia  offered  rewards  for  the  scalps  of  Indians,  men,  wo 
men,  and  children :  in  1756,  during  the  French  war, 
when  the  Indians  generally  were  allied  with  the  French ; 
in  1764,  before  the  close  of  the  Indian  war,  known  as  Guy- 
asootha's  or  Pontiac's  war;  and  in  17SO,  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  Revolution  when  the  frontier  presented  al 
most  daily  deadly  encounters  between  individuals  and 
armies  in  their  struggle  for  supremacy  in  the  Little 
World  through  which  runs  the  River  of  Blood  —  with 
out  and  within.  For,  disguise  the  fact  as  we  may,  in 
our  congratulatory  grimaces  before  one  another,  the 
idea  that  has  been  expressed  in  our  actions  toward 
the  aborigines  of  this  continent  from  first  to  last 
has  been  extirpation. 

The  rates  offered,  in  1756.  were  — "for  the  Scalp  of 
every  male  Indian  of  above  Twelve  Years  old,  one 
hundred  and  thirty  dollars,  and  for  the  Scalp  of  every 
Indian  Woman,  Fifty  Dollars,"  as  the  Lieutenant  Gov 
ernor  of  Pennsylvania,  the  Honorable  Robert  Hunter 
Morris,  declared,  as  reported  in  the  Colonial  Records, 


Lor  riRT  s  L  A :»i  F;  x  r , 


vol.  vii,  pages  74-0;  in  17(54 —  "  for  the  Scalp  of  every 
Male  Indian  Enemy  above  the  age  of  10  Years  produced' 
as  evidence  of  their  beiiv^  killed,  lot  pieces  of  Eight,  and 
for  the  Scalp  of  every  female  Indian  Enemy  above  the 
Age  of  •!('  Years  produced  as  Kvidence  as  a- fores...  ,'>(',' 
pieces  of  Eight,"  as  set  forth  in  the  Minutes  of  the  Coun 
cil,  presided  over  by  the  Lieutenant  Governor,  the  Hon 
orable  John  Penn,  and  reported  in  the  Colonial  Records, 
vol.  ix,  pa^e  189;  while,  in  the  depreciated  currency  of 
the  Revolution,  the  premium  offered  for  an  Indian 
scalp  rose  to  one  thousand  dollars  :  as  the  President  of 
the  Council,  the  Honorable  Joseph  Reedr  stated  to  Col 
onel  Samuel  Hunter  in  these  words  — "The  Council 
would  &  do  for  this  Purpose  authorize  you  to  offer  the 
following:  Premiums  for  every  male  Prisoner  whether 
white  or  Indian  if  the  former  is  acting  with  the  latter 
3oOO  Dollars  and  1000  for  every  Inuian  scaVp,"  as  printed 
in  ihe  Pennsylvania  Archives,  vol.  viii,  page  107. 

For  the  massacre  of  the  Moravian  Indians  at  Gna- 
denhiitten  by  the  Whites,  under  Colonel  David  Wil 
liamson  in  February,  17&2,  and  the  horrible  torture  at 
the  stake  of  Colonel  William  Crawford  in  June  of  the 
same  year,  let  this  serve  as  an  introduction. 


What  but  a  weaker  wolf,  is  he, 

This  skulking1  savage,  unto  thee  ? 

Go,  tear  him  in  thy  .stronger  teeth, 

And  live  the  longer  in  his  death  ! 

Go,  crunch  him  with  thy  stronger  jaw  — 

The  painted  brave  and  burdened  squaw  ; 

Nor  spare  the  board-bound  suckling  whelp  — 

To  save  perhaps  thy  future  scalp  ! 

<i  >,  wilder  wolf;  for,  since  the  light 

Hath  turned  to  life,  Might  makes  the  Right  I 


—  1781  — 

LOCHRY'S  LAMENT. 


"Fort  Pitt,  December  3d,  1781. 

"Sir,  I  a  in  sorry  to  inform  your  Excellency  that  this 
Country  has  got  a  severe  stroke  by  the  loss  of  Colonel 
Lochry  and  about  one  hundred  (tis  said)  of  the  best 
men  of  Westmoreland  county,  including  Captain 
Stockely  &.  his  Company  of  Rangers.  They  were  going 


LOCHRY'S  LAMENT.  89 


down  the  Ohio  on  General  Clarke's  Expedition,  many 
uccounts  agree  that  they  were  all  killed  or  taken  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Miame  River  I  believe  chiefly  killed  —  this 
misfortune  added  to  the  failure  of  General  Clarke's 
Expedition,  has  filled  the  people  with  great  dis-t 
may  many  talk  of  retiring  to  the  East  side 
of  the  Mountain  early  in  the  Spring/'—  Gen'l  Wm.  Ir 
vine  to  the  President  of  the  Council. 

A  small  stream,  called  Lochry's  creek,  eleven  miles 
below  the  mouth  of  the  Great  Miami,  perpetuates  the 
memory  and  locality  of  this  unhappy  event  in  many  a 
household  of  Westmoreland.  Col.  Archibald  Lochry 
was  the  prothonotary  and  lieutenant  of  the  county,  a 
man  of  worth  and  distinction.  His  command  consisted 
of  one  hundred  and  seven  men,  of  whom  only  one  or 
two  escaped  with  their  lives  as  prisoners  from  the  am 
bush  into  which  they  were  led  on  the  21th  of  August. 


The  rain  of  spring  in  torrents  fell, 

As  never  it  fell  before, 
Till  the  rill  in  the  wood  was  a  rushing  flood 

With  a  ceaseless  surging  roar. 
While  the  woman  wept  in  the  warmth  of  woe 

For  one  of  Lochry's  men, 
Who  went  with  a  kiss  of  protracted  bliss 

And  never  came  again  !  — 

Aye,  the  rain  of   spring  that  fell  from  the  skies 
Was  the  tears  that  gushed' from  the  mourner's  eyes. 

The  hail  of  summer  beat  upon 

The  fields  of  growing  corn, 
Till  all  at%  noon  was  lying  down 

That  stood  up  in  the  morn. 
While  the  woman  wept  in  the  waste  of  woe, 

For  one  of  Lochry's  men, 
Who  went  to  the  west  with  the  heart *""*  her  breast 

And  never  came  again  !  — 
Aye,  the  hail  that  fell  from  the  summer  skies, 
Was  the  tears  that  congealed  in  the  mourner's  eyes. 

The  sleet  of  autumn  in  the  night 

Fell  on  the  haunted  heath, 
Till  all  was  cold  in  wood  and  wold, 

And  glazed  as  the  eye  of  Death. 


fK>  LKATITKR    BKKK<lli>. 

While  the   Woman    Wept    iu   the   Want   of    \V()r. 

For  one  of  Lochfy's  men, 
\Vho  went  with  iin  nath  and  ;t  plighted  troth, 

And  never  came  aL'ain  !  — 

Ay.  tin-  Blfel  of  autumn  that  fell  from  the  skies 
Was  tin-  tears  tlrii  uh/'d  tin-  mourner's  eyes. 

Th<j  snow  of  winter,  albeit  it  fell 

I'Yom  a  loadeo,'  leaden  cloud, 
A  ',,-  ln.strously  wliit«;  and  feathery  light, 

A  soi'i  and  downy  shroud. 
Whilt-  tin:  woman  wcjit  in  the  winter  of  woe 

Km-  one  of  Lochry'g  men, 
\\  ho  went  —  with  the  life  of  a  woe-wed   wife  — 

And  never  calm-  ana  in  !  — 

Ave,  the  snow  of  ^winter  tliat    fell    from    the   >kies 
Was  i  he  tears  that  closed  the  mourner's  eyes. 


LEATHER 


:rr:tt  \VM-;  I  In-  d'-st  it  ut  mil  n(  i-MiulortaMc  i  lotli- 
inii,  lli;il  \vlicii  tin-  th'-t  court  ol'  coiiiiiiuii  plcii^  was  ln-l<l 
iu  Cjittish,  now  Washington,  ,  in  17^1,  j  a  lii^iily  n-spccta- 
li'i-  i-iti/.'-u,  whose  pvrx'iicc  WM^  i-ci|iiin'il  :is  a  ninuis- 
f  I'aic,  c.iitld  uol  attend  court  without  tirst  borrowing  a 
pair  of  li-atln-r  lu'ccclics  iroiu  an  cnuully  respectable 

neighbor  who  wa>  sunimoDed  on  the  irrainl  jury.    The 
Intter  lent  them,  aDd  having  no  others,  iiad  to  stay  at 

home."       AVr.  .l<wt,h  ,S,//////  •  (H,l  Rrdali-m;  p.  .H. 

How  happy  the  judges,  when  one  pair  of  breeches 

Sulliceth  two  lawyers  to  wear  — 
Dividing  in  twain  the  risks  for  lonn;  speeches, 

And  doubling  the  chances  for  prayer  ! 

—  17NJ  - 

'/'///;  OMINOUS  FOX. 


Trophetic  ol   I  he  late  of  the  K  \pcililio  ii  against  San- 
<Ui'-uyi  in  L782,  under  the  command  ot  t'oionel   William 


»]      ,  \  \     BNH1  ri  EN, 


•  '-,{       the    dr..  i    pfMMinf    Judffl     >(    the  ftOttfU   o< 

Westmoreland  <v>ii!il\  .  as  has  IMVM    noted        the    •. 

idem  a  Herts  thc«  mind  o\  the  reader  :il  this  Uite 
da\  .  possiMy  rv  en  MUMV  thilM  il  (Hit  the  sol,  HITS  Who' 
pan  uipaled  in  i!  :  for  while  the  hitter  l>.  -hold  in  H  the 
1  >oxxi  ml  it  y  of  defeat  .  t  he  tor  HUT.  apprised  of  the 


"A     Ttvia!     '.lu'iih'nt     <v%»'urnvj    liurlui;    ll'f    tnnrcli. 

NVllii'll    lUildc  MM   UMt.'lN  tM'Mh.V    1  II  >('!<->-.  I  o  M    UpOU    (hi-   Illlllili- 

ol'  thoM-  suporsUltously  im-liM.-.l  A  t.>\,  !.\  soinr 
MI,  -ins.  uot  into  tin-  li'i.'s,  \\  MS  SUITOMM.!*'.!  l>\  tin-  MUM>. 
hut  Mi.'iiiM-.'il  (.»  osr.ipc  UMhiul.  •  MM-.1  roavi«M<-.l  th^ 
<M-i'tlu!,>ns  in  si:-.us  an.l  .MIKMIS.  •  port-Muls  a  lailmv 
tin-  \\  h,>l<-  army  is  unal>lc>  to  U  ill  a  io\  inud-r  MU-II  rii  • 
.  \\hal  MIC.  -ess  ,  -MH  i,t-  (-\i«vti'»l  jiiijun-xl  Ju- 


Aye,  well  tin-  arni\    may  slui.Mi-r  in  ihv:ui. 
At  llir  l)noll«'s>  ,-|!:IM>   of   (!)»•   IPX   .so   red  ; 
For  wli«>  will  OM-MJU-   w\\}\    tlu'    scalp    on    liis 
Sliouhi  (lu1   Ivcd   tox    suiToini'.l    the 


:  MALLET  or  r;.v.i />/-:.v///  r/v.v 


Kr.-atluM:;  tl»,«  spirit  of  theS.-alp  l.au.  in   l.s.'.  ,-ui  tX- 

I'fiiittiMi.  iron)  Southwestern  Penni^lvwala, under  th« 
command  of  Col,  i>a\i,i  Wlllianisan,  Ml  ,»m.  .«si,Misti»i\ 
to  break  up  the  villages  of  HH>  hosin,-  [ndiaoa  on  n><- 
Banduiky;  ttutam^orltj  ol  the lawle^i men  from  ih.- 
ivoMtifi-  converted  erelong  UK-  little  :«nn\  into  a  »»MM.I  of 

assassins  n,,.  r.-.'or.l  oi   whose  luilrli.-Hrs.  siinnn,-,!  up  in 
th«  V:ili<  I  Of  tina.lrnhnlf.Mt.  is  Hi,-  i,,ul,'sl  |.|,>t  upon  lh«- 
hloiul.N    p:»sii'  of    (In-    rarly    liisiorx     o[     llus    reglOD         lli«- 
tountain-hca,l  ol    [In-  Ki\  ,M  ol    1  Uoo.l  i  n  appa  II  i  M;.;  iva  1  i  1  \ 
In  Hi, MI-  rouisr  !a\     th.-    \illa;;,-s    ,>|     th<-    Moiavian    ,-,MI 
Vi-rjs  to  Christ  la  Mil  \  .  on  the    M  nsk  in  mi  in.     \\'h,T,-.  lia\ 
IVCd  uilhoal  Oreatittf  an    alarm.  (lir>     ,-ni  r.-ip,,,  ,| 

ninety-tlx  men  women,  and  children  into  two  nouies, 

ami  (l<'lil>,-rat,-ly  l>ut,-h,-i-,',l  HI,MM  as  thr\  mi-h(  have 
killr.l  a  park  ol  WOlVea  in  a  |.,-n  -  ,.n<-  of  tl,<-  munlfivrs 
lakin-  up  a  i-,),i  p.M's  malh-t  ami  U  n,.,-U  In-,  llu-  In-a.is  ol 
tin-  ol.l  ami  lh<-  \  oim-.,  nn  I  i  1  h<-  ha.i  KHI,-,I  fourteen 
\vln-n.  his  arm  tailin-  him.  lu-  liamh-,1  th«- 
deal  h  to  a  companion.  \\  il  h  :,  \\ord  of 
in  lio.l  s  uaim-.  to  go  and  do  liU,  \\  is,-  j 


92  MALLET    Or    GXADENHUTTEX. 


For  further  particulars  concerning  the  massacre  — 
or  rather  for  an  admirable  history  of  the  Moravians  in 
Southwestern  Pennsylvania  —  their  arrival  from  the 
Place  of  Hogs  on  the  upper  Allegheny  and  their  sojourn 
at  Friedenstadt,  or  the  Village  of  Peace,  on  the  Big  Bea 
ver,  until  their  departure  for  the  scene  eventually  of 
their  slaughter  at  Gnadenhiitten,—  I  take  pleasure  in 
referring  the  reader  to  the  elegant  and  accurate  little 
book,  entitled  Black  Robes,  of  my  worthy  friend 
Robert  P.  Nevin,  Esq.,  of  Pittsburgh.  The  several 
results  of  the  massacre,  alluded  to  in  the  last 
lines  of  the  following  poem,  are  set  forth  at  greater 
length  in  succeeding  pages. 


What  stains  are  these  on  this  mallet-head  — 
These  blacks  and  browns  above  blotches  of  red  ? 

They  are  the  stains  of  human  blood  — 
They  are  the  clots  of  the  vital  flood 
That  flowed  in  the  hearts  of  the  happy  and  good, 
Who  fell  beneath  this  weapon  of  death, 
The  Mallet  of  Guadenhiitten  ! 

Whose  hairs  are  these  of  various  hue, 
Entangled  and  stuck  in  this  ghastly  glue  ? 

They  are  the  hairs  of  the  youth  and  old  age  — 
The  silken  suckling  —  the  silvered  sage  — 
And  the  mothers  who  knelt  in  their  gory  cage 
In  vain  beneath  this  weapon  of  death, 
The  Mallet  of  Gnadenhiitten  ! 

Whose  bones  are  these  wedged  into  the  wood, 
Like  ivory  grains  in  this  ebony  blood  ? 

They    are   of    the    skulls   of  those    bared  to    be 

crushed  — 

They  are  of  the  skulls  of  those  hid  to  be  hushed  — 
Of  the  many  who  into  eternity  rushed, 
When  they  fell  beneath  this  weapon  of  death. 
The  Mallet  of  Guaddenhiitten  ! 

But  what  is  this  —  this  grayish  band 

That  girdles  the  helve  for  the  width  of  a  hand  ? 


OTRTY    TO    CRAWFORD.  93 


It  is  the  stain  of  the  murderer's  grip. 

When,  in  God's  name  he  cried,   with  a  blasphe 
mous  lip, 

Let  not  this  blest  opportunity  slip  — 

While  I  gasp   for   breath,    take   this   weapon   of 

death, 
The   Mallet  of  Gnadenhlitten ! 

And  this  —  what  is  this  inburut  brand 
That  extends  from  the  poll   to  the  stain  of   the 
hand? 

It  is  of  the  fire  by  the  four  winds  blown, 

Till  the  flame-girdled  stake  ended   Crawford's  re 
nown, 

And  the  torch   turned  to  ashes  and  smoke  Han- 
nastown  ! 

Aye,  the  curse  of  Cain  is  in  every  stain 
Of  the  Mallet  of  Gnadenhiitten  ! 


—  1782  — 

SIMON  G1RTY   TO  COL.   CRAWFORD 
AT  THE  STAKE. 


The  details,  in  the  following  poem,  of  the  horrible 
torture  of  Colonel  William  Crawford,  are  given  in  the 
sequence  reported  by  Dr.  Knight,  an  eye-witne.ss,  with 
but  few  and  minor  transpositions  to  lead  with  greater 
precision  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  —  horror  upon 
horror's  head  accumulating  unto  the  last.  For  the  full 
particulars  of  the  expedition,  and  the  most  complete 
biographies  of  Crawford  aud  Girty,  the  reader  is  referred 
to  the  admirable  monograph  of  Mr.  Butterfield.  With 
respect  to  the  tradition,  however,  which  I  make  use  of 
here,  namely,  that,  the  secret  of  Girty's  superintend 
ence  of  the  torture  of  his  quondam  friend,  was  the  re 
fusal  of  the  hand  of  his  beautiful  daughter,  Sarah,  I 
may  say,  that,  notwithstanding  it  appears  "  silly  "  to 
the  grave  and  venerable  historian,  my  honorable  friend, 
Judge  Veech,  it  is  neither  impossible  nor  improbable  to 
a  ranrtom  rhymer,  particularly,  when  vouched  for  as  a 
verity  by  a  descendant  of  Crawford,  Judge  McCor- 
mick,  of  Connellsville. 


9-4  GIRTY    TO    CRAWFORD. 

You  say  T  am  accursed.     I  am  accursed. 

Of  all  the  damned  on  earth,  I  am  the  worst.* 

And  it  is  well  I  am,  that  you  receive 
Your  just  deserts  which  only  I  can  give. 

Compared  with  me,  the  Deleware  is  tame  — 
A  suckling  wolf  —  a  savage  but  in  name. 

The  great  is  grown  alone  within  the  great  ; 
A  Grirty  can  alone  the  White  create. f 

The  Deleware  had  killed  you  at  a  blow  ; 
But  I  despise  his  mercy  —  and  am  slow  ! 

Speed  seldom  makes  a  single  wise  reflection, 
While  Haste  is  ve"ry  careless  in  selection. 

You  are  within  yourself  a  brother  man. 
Or  good  or  bad,  as  but  a  brother  can. 

But  in  this  pastime  you  will  play  the  Good, 
And  I  the  Evil,  of  the  White  Man's  blood. 

You,  naked  as  at  birth,  bound  with  a  thong. 
Will  symbolize  the  Right  enthralled   by    Wrong. 

While  I,  in  savage  guise,  will  play  my  part, 
The  unseen  Savage  of  the  White  Man's  heart. 

Nay,  friend  ;  your  role  is  easy  —  While  I  speak. 
'Tis  but  to  writhe  in  pain  about  a  stake. 

Your  face  is  blacked,  with  that  of  others  here, 
That  in  your  fate  your  own  may  now  appear. 

Behold  !  the  tomahawk  sinks  in  the  brain 
Of  all  so  marked  —  The  inference  is  plain. 

Nay,  shudder  not  and  shriek.     All  men  must  die. 
You  are  not  an  exception  —  nor  am  I. 

But  you,  the  chieftain  of  these  slaughtered  men. 
Are  blessed  above  them  all  —  in  knowing  when. 

That  in  anticipation  you  may  feel, 

A  thousand  times,  the  keen-edged  butchering  steel. 

What !  groan  beneath  the  blows,  of  feeble  squaws 
And  feebler  children,  \\ith  their  scourge  of  straws  ! 


GIRTY    TO    CRAWFORD.  95 


It  is  my  care  and  kindness  that  the  small 
Be  given  first  that  you  endure  —  the  all ! 

Besides,  these  squaws  and  children  will  remind 
You  of  your  wife  and  children  left  behind  — 

To  look  for  your  return  —  to  mope  and  muse  — 
And  mourn  your  death  with  every  breath  of  news. 

Until,  perchance,  the  midnight  axe  descend  — 
Of  widow's  wail  and  orphan's  woe,  an  end  ! 

Until,  perchance,  the  Gnadenhiitten  Maul 
Tires  not,  till  it  has  crushed  the  skulls  of  all. 

Nay,  shudder  not  and  fall  upon  your  knees  — 
I'll  change  the  subject,  since  it  doth  not  please. 

Behold  the  stake  !  and  this  rope  round   the   post, 
To  keep  you  in  position  —  while  you  roast. 

And  these  encircling  faggots,  as  you  turn, 

To  roast  you  through  and  through  —  before  you  burn. 

Yea  ;  Simon  Girty  has  pronounced  your  doom  ; 
The  ashes  of  this  wood  shall  be  your  tomb ! 

Wiu-gay-imud  ?  Yea;  the  chief  has  eat  y°ur  bread  — 
Beg  him  to  save  your  life  ?    He  shakes  his  head  ! 

Now,  while  the  squaws  and  children  fire  the  wood? 
Consider  what  the  PipeJ  speaks  to  his  brood. 

And  since  the  Redman's  tongue  you  cannot  hear, 
And  understand,  I'll  be  to  you  an  ear.|| 


"  Upon  this  man,  the  chieftain  of  our  foes, 
Let  each  and  all  of  us  avenge  our  woes. 

"  For  all  the  wrongs  to  us  the  Whites  have  done, 
Let  now  their  chieftain  in  himself  atone. 

"  For  he  is  as  an  army,  though  but  one  — 
As  to  the  stars  at  noonday,  is  the  sun. 

"All  cast  in  him,  by  the  Great  Manito, 
That  we  may  kill  an  army  at  a  blow. 

'•All  cast  in  him  by  the  Great  Spirit  of  Good, 


GIRTY    TO    CRAWFORD. 


Thai  we  may  drink  at  once  an  army's  blood  [ 

"  That  each  aud  all  of  us  may  say,  '  My  knife 
Has  taken  a  great  English  array's  life  ! 

'"Behold  this  unwiped  stain  upon  the  blade  — 
This  Colonel  Crawford's  ebbing  life's  blood  made  T 

"Then  let  an  army  e'er  invade  our  land, 
Alone,  each  one  of  us,  may  make  a  stand. 

"  For  we  are  each  an  army  in  the  wood, 

AY  hen  we  have  each  drank  of  an  army's  blood. 

'•  Strike,  one  aud  all,  then,  with  the  knife-blade's  tip, 
That  all  alike  may  in  the  warm  blood  dip  ! 

"That  all  may  kill  in  all  —  not  all  in  one  ; 
And  he  an  army's  death  die,  though  alone. 

"  That  all  may  kill  in  all  —  not  all  for  one  ; 
That  he  atone  for  all  the  Whites  have  done. 

"  Glut,  glut  your  vengeance,  now  !  Strike,  one  aDd  ail  ! 
Remember  Gnadeohiitten's  murderous  Maul  !  § 

"  The  White  Man's  army's  in  the  Redman's  gripe  — 
Obey  the  words  of  the  avenging  Pipe  !" 


What !  cut  and  gnashed  and  slashed  from  top  to  toe  ! 
Well,  do  not  moan  —  I  said,  it  would  be  so. 

Yea  ;  I  am  sure  ;  for  I  was  filled  with  fear, 
Lest,  when  your  ears  were  off,  you  might  not  hear. 

And  now  —  Yea,  there  is  nothing   half  so  good 
As  a  live  coal  for  quickly  staunching  blood. 

What,  groan  again  ?  Why,  man,  your  flesh  is  hard, 
And  callous  to  the  brand,  it  is  so  charred. 

I  doubt  if  -TOU  could  feel  —  (Yea,  fire  !)  —  the  wad 
Of  any  musket  here,  at  half  a  rod. 

(•(}0  on  —  go  on  —  go  on  !  He'll  stand  a  score 
Of  pops  like  those,  and  still  cry  out  for  more  ! ) 

What,  shoot JOU  througb  tbe  heart.  I  ?  —  Simon  Girty  ? 
To  think  that  I  could  do  an  act  so  dirty ! 


GIRTY    TO    CRAWFORD.  97 

Oh,  no !  Besides,  you  see,  I  have  no  gun  ; 
And  could  not,  if  I  would,  stop  this  rare  fun  ! 

But  since  you  beg  uie  still  to  take  a  part, 

With  words,  not  wads,  I'll  shoot you  through  the  heart ! 

Nay,  sink  not  to  the  ground  upon  your  knees, 
To  raise  the  ashes  but  to  make  you  sneeze. 

And  call  not  on  your  God  to  do  what  I  — 
The  devil  —  would  not  do  to  make  you  die  ! 

The  sky  is  clear  —  You  need  not  look  for  rain : 
And  for  the  thunderbolt,  you  pray  in  vain  !*[[ 

Nay,  courage,  friend  ;  this  fainting  is  not  death  ; 
The  gases  of  the  coals  but  take  your  breath. 

(Quick  !  ***  the  scalping -knife,  and  bare  his  skull ! 
Before  his  chest  with  the  foul  gas  is  full ! ) 

Why,  man,  JOU  are  not  dead  !  Stand  up  !  there  !  ho  ! 
And  walk  around  your  stake  —  there  !  steady  !  so  ! 

But  how  you  bleed  !  (Quick  !  with  a  cap  of  fire, 
And  clap  it  on  his  head,  ere  he  expire ! ) 

Hurrah  !  that  jump  is  worth  a  thousand  groans ! 
And  that  sharp  shriek  a  myriad  of  moans ! 

But  why  —  why  do  you  stand  and  stare  at  me, 
As  if  you  knew  me  not  —  in  mockery  ? 

I'm  sure.  I  have  not  changed  from  worse  to  worst, 
Since  we  began  ;  for  I  set  out  accursed. 

But  y°u  are  changed  8omewhat — y°ur  features  marred  — 
A  scorched  skull  staring  on  a  corpse  half  charred  ! 

Still,  you  are  William  Crawford,  Esquire,  Judge, 
Or  Colonel,  as  they  style  you,  while  you  budge. 

But  sink  not  to  the  earth  again,  my  friend, 
Lest  to  this  conference,  there  be  an  end. 

Nay,  close  your  eyes  not !  See  me  kneel  again, 
Before  your  daughter's  feet,  and  kneel  in  vain  ! 

Nay,  close  your  ears  not !  Hear  my  vow  once  more, 
And  her  refusal  as  in  days  of  yore ! 


#8  GIRTY    TO    CRAWFORD. 

Oh,  close  your  eyes  not,  till  you  see  me  spurned 7 
And  fro-m  your  cabin  like  a  leper  turned  ! 

Oh.  close  your  ears  not,  till  you  hear  again 

Your  t-urse  that  maddened  then  as,now  my  brain  I 

I  loved  your  daughter  —  Mark  ?  —  till  I  ™s  driven 
From  her  — frora  earth  —  "MA  every  hope  of  heaven  ! 

I  love  your  daughter  still,  though  I,  accursed, 
Am,  or'  the  fiends  of  'hell,  the  first  and  worst ! 

I  love  your  daughter,  Sarah  Crawford,  still  ; 
And,  at  her  name,  my  vengeance  cannot  kill ! 

Speak  !  speak  !   Her  hand's  within  your  own  again7 
For  Harrison  is  numbered  with  the  slain. 

Speak  !  speak  [    Her  hand  !    And  you  shall  live  I 
Speak  !  speak  !  before  it  is  toa  late  to  give  ! 

To  late  to Hold  !  Save,  Girty,  save  thy  breath  ; 

For  Crawford's  ears  are  closed  for  aye  in   death  ! 

Great  God,  I  corse  thee,  and  thy  love  I  loath, 
For  Thou'st  denied  my  prayer  and  kept  my  oath  ! 

Thou  hast  denied  my  love,  and,  when  too  late, 
Fulfilled  my  vow  of  vengeance  and  of  hate  ! 

In  this  black,  ugly  thing !  —  this  steaming  flesh  !  — 
This  sickening  stench  !— thu  sm°u^»as  shapeless  ash  ! 

This  act  —  to  live  within  the  brain  of  Man, 
Till  he  hath  made  an  end  where  he  began.** 

*  "  No  other  country  or  age  ever  produced,  perhaps, 
so  brutal,  depraved,  and  wicked  a  wretch  as  Simon  Girty . 
He  was  sagacious  and  brave;  but  his  sagacity  and  bra 
very  only  made  him  a  greater  monster  of  cruelty.  All 
of  the  vices  of  civilization  seemed  to  centre  in  him,  and 
by  him  were  ingrafted  upon  those  of  the  savage  state, 
without  the  usual  redeeming  qualities  of  either.  He 
moved  about  through  the  Indian  country  during  the 
war  of  the  Revolution  and  the  Indian  war  which  fol 
lowed,  a  dark  whirlwind  of  fury,  desperation,  and  bar 
barity.  In  the  refinements  of  torture  inflicted  on  help 
less  prisoners,  as  compared  with  the  Indians,  he  'out- 
Heroded  Herod.'  In  treachery,  he  stood  unri 
valed."—  BUTTEKFIELD. 


X5LRTY    TO    CRAWFORD. 


t  In  this  crimination  of  the  whites,  however,  I  do 
not  exculpate  the  Indians.  By  no  means;  they  were  as 
treacherous,  as  bloodthirsty,  and  as  unchristian  as  sav 
ages  could  be,  cruel,  remorseless  and  brutal;  but  I  dc, 
mean  to  say  that  in  a  contest  that  aroused  the  ugliest 
passions  in  the  human  breast,  the  race  that  was  the 
higher  could  fall  the  lower;  the  race  that  had  the  greater 
cunning,  -contrivance,  skiU,  and  determination  to  con 
quer  by  fair  means  or  foul  made  use  of  its  power;  the 
race  that  in  girdling  the  globe  never 'did  and  never  will 
hesitate  ta  trample  a  weaker  beneath  the  iron  heel  of 
its  victorious  tread,  did  not  balk  at  slaughtering  savages 
but  one  remove  from  wolves.  And  however  correct  and 
just  in  the  main,  no  man  can  state  that  in  part  «nd  in 
particular  the  White  race  was  not  the  ultimate 
of  evil  and  the  acme  of  injustice  in  its  conflict 
for  dominion  and  existence  with  the  Red. —  Reveries  of 
a  Rambler,  in  1874. 

J  "Captain  Pipe  was,  in  many  respects,  a  remarka 
ble  savage.  *  *  *  AS  the  army  of  Crawford  approached 
the  Sandusky,  nowhere  upon  tlmt  stream  was  to  be 
found  an  enemy  more  determined  than  he.  *  *  *  Upou 
this  Captain  Pipe  made  a  speech  to  the  Indians,  who,  at 
its  conclusion,  yelled  a  hideous  and  hearty  assent  to 
what  had  been  said.""—  BUTTERFIELIX  What  he  said  in 
this  speech,  however,  has  not  been  reported;  and  what 
is  given  here,  is  accordingly  imaginary,  but  in  accord 
ance  with  the  Indian's  ideas  of  warfare,  as  given  by 
Post,  McCullough,  and  James  Smith. 

||  An  interpreter,  in  the  expressive  language  of  the 
Indians. 

\  "Both  he  [Slover,  who  with  Dr.  Knight  were  the 
only  prisoners  who  escaped  with  their  lives,]  and  the 
Doctor  say  they  were  assured  by  several  Indians  whom 
they  formerly  knew,  that  not  a  single  soul  should  in 
future  escape  torture,  and  gave  as  a  reason  for  this  con 
duct  the  Moravian  affair.'' —  Irvine  to  Washington,  Fort 
Pitt,  llth  July,  1782. 

fi  "  I  was  tied  to  the  post,  as  I  have  already  said,  and 
the  flame  was  now  kindled.  The  day  was  clear,  not  a 
cloud  to  be  seen  :  if  there  were  clouds  low  in  the  hori 
zon,  the  sides  of  the  house  prevented  me  from  seeing 
them,  but  I  heard  no  thunder,  nor  observed  any  sign  of 
approaching  rain.  Just  as  the  fire  on  one  pile  began  to 
blaze,  the  wind  *  *  *  *  blew  a  hurricane,  and  the 
rain  followed  in  less  than  three  minutes.  The  rain  fell 
violently;  and  the  fire,  though  it  began  to  blaze  con 
siderably,  was  instantly  extinguished.  The  rain  lasted 
about  a  quarter  of  an  hour."—  Clover's  Narrative.  Kept 


100  SARAH    HARRISON. 


over  night,  for  "a  whole  day's  frolic  in  roasting  him," 
Slover  escaped  to  tell  his  tale. 

**  "Thus  ended  this  disastrous  campaign.  It  was 
the  last  one  which  took  place  in  this  section  of  the 
country  during  the  war  of  the  revolution.  It  was  un 
dertaken  with  the  very  worst  views  —  those  of  murder 
and  plunder.  It  was  conducted  without  sufficient 
means  to  encounter,  with  any  prospect  of  success,  the 
large  Indian  forces  upon  the  plains  of  Sandusky.  There 
was  not  that  subordination  and  discipline  which  is  al 
ways  necessary  to  success ;  and  it  ended  in  total  dis 
comfiture,  and  an  awful  sacrifice  of  life.  Never  did  any 
enterprise  more  signally  fail,  and  never  was  a  deed  of 
blood  more  terribly  revenged,  than  the  murder  of  the 
Christian  Indians  at  the  Moravian  towns."—  RUPP. 


-  1782  — 

SARAH  HARRISON. 


"  Crawford's  children  were  all  married  and  living  in 
the  neighborhood  of  his  home  [  on  the  left  bank  of  the 
Youghiogheny,  i.  e.  the  Ohio-gheny,  or  the  River  of 
Blood,  at  the  lower  end  of  the  town  of  New  Haven.] 
Sara.h,  the  eldest,  was  the  wife  of  William  Harrison,  a 
man  of  great  spirit  and  distinction  [  killed  in  the  battle 
which  terminated  the  expedition  against  Sandusky, 
commanded  by  Crawford].  They  had  six  children  — 
Sally,  Nancy,  Harriet,  Battell,  John,  and  Polly.  Sarah 
Harrison,  the  mother,  when  young  was  a  girl  of  great 
beauty.  Traditions  of  her  splendid  features  still  linger 
by  the  rippling  waters  of  the  Youghiogheny.  '  It  has 
often  been  said,'  writes  a  former  resident  of  Fayette 
county,  [Robert  A.  Sherrard,]  'that  Sally  Craw 
ford,  when  she  married  William  Harrison,  was 
the  most  beautiful  young  lady  in  all  that  part  of 
the  country.' "—  BUTTERFIELIX 


How    blest   was    the    hour 
When    she  entered    her   bower  — 
Her    bower   of   love    in    the   wild,   wild    wood  ; 
While    the    beautiful    river 
Rippled   on  —  and   forever  !  — 
But    alas  !     to    deceive    her !  — 

With    her    joy    in    its    flood ! 


THE    HEROINE    OF   HANNASTOWN.  101 

And    how    bright  -Wds    the    day,      ***** 
When,    in    battle   irraVy-  ••    ! 

Her    hero    among    the    first    stood  : 

While    the    mirrority^  fivej"        ^,  ,  **, 
Reflected    the    quiver 
Of    pride    and    the    fever 

Of    love,    in    its    flood! 

But    black    was    the    night, 
When    a    voice    in    affright 
Foretold    his    sad    fate,    in    the    wood  ; 
While    the    sad-sobbing    river 
In    vain    to    relieve    her 
Repeated    forever 

Her    wail,    in    its    flood ! 

And    doubly    accursed 
That    moment,    when    burst 
The    storm-cloud    above    the    wild    wood ; 
While    the    thunder    resounded, 
Witl*   her   shrieking   confounded, 
And    the    lightning    compounded 
Her    tears    and    his    blood ! 

When    her    Heaven    of    Love 
Flit   far,    far    above 

The  bower  she   built    in    the    wild,    wild    wood, 
Where   the   earth    hath    a    river 
That   flows   on    forever 
To    the    Gulf    of    the    Giver  — 
The    River   of    Blood  ! 


—  1782  — 

THE  HEROINE  OF  HANNASTOWN. 


On  Saturday,  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  July 
13th,  1782,  the  hamlet  of  Hannastown,  consisting  of 
about  thirty  cabins  and  houses  and  (the  fort,  or  block 
house,  was  attacked  by  a  band  of  Indians  and  Tories  or 
whites  acting  with  the  Indians  ("one  hundred  whites 
and  blacks,"  writes  Michael  Huffnagle,  and  than  whom, 
who  has  reported  aught  about  the  affair  that  is  entitled 


102  THE    FATE    OF    MARMIE. 

tY.  rnore  creaenc0':)  aivd.  in  a  short  time  reduced  to 
ashes — every  building*  being  consumed  with  the  excep 
tion 'of  MiefoA'aiid  two*  iunis-es  (writes  David  Duncan 
to  Mr.  Cuwningham,>'M>eniberT>f  the  Council  from  Lan 
caster,  at  that  time).  The  same  afternoon,  by  a  detach 
ment  of  the  band  of  savages,  the  .small  fort  called  Mil 
ler's,  about  three  miles  distant  toward  the  south  (  on  the 
Miller  farm,  two  miles  east  of  Greensburg,  on  the  Stoys- 
town  pike,)  was  taken  (  Duncan  )  and  reduced  to  ashes 
(Huffnagle).  About  twenty  (says  Huffnagle,  while 
Duncan  says,  upwards  of  twenty)  of  the  inhabitants  of 
Hannastown  and  Fort  Miller,  and  the  neighborhood 
surrounding,  were  killed  or  taken  prisoners,  "  the  most 
of  whom  were  women  and  children."  And  about  a 
a  hundred  head  of  cattle,  and  a  number  of  horses  and 
hogs,  were  sliot  down  as  they  ran  to  and  Iro  in  the  ex 
citement.—  Reveries  of  a  Rambler,  in  1874. 

"At  the  time  Hannastown  was  burned  by  the  In 
dians,  my  sister  Jane  was  going  to  school  there,  but  es 
caped  to  the  fort  with  her  uncle  James  Brison.  She  saw 
poor  tender-hearted  Margaret  Shaw  stoop  to  pick  up  the 
little  child  that  had  crept  to  the  hole  in  the  door,  and 
she  saw  her  fall  a  victim  to  the  noblest  impulse  in  the 
human  heart,  by  a  ball  in  the  breast  at  the  moment  she 
took  up  the  child."—  Recollections  of  James  B.  Oliver, 

Thy  fate,  poor  Peggy,  was  the  common. 
Of  fond  and  sympathetic  woman  : 
To  stoop  to  save ;  to  rise  distressed, 
A  savage  bullet  in  thy  breast  ! 


—  1790  — 

7 HE  FATE  OF  MARMIE. 


On  the  First  day  of  November,  1790,  the  first  iron 
furnace,  erected  in  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi,  of 
which  there  is  an  authentic  record,  went  into  blast  —  or 
was  blown-in,  to  use  the  language  of  the  ironmaster. 
This  was  the  Alliance  Furnace,  of  Turnbull  &  Marmie, 
situated  two  and  a  half  miles  above  the  mouth  of 
Jacob's  Creek,  a  confluent  of  the  Youghiogheny,  The 
stack  is  still  standing,  but  in  ruins  —  the  most  impres 
sive  and  picturesque  of  the  ancient  structures  of  South 
western  Pennsylvania,  concealed  in  a  forest  of  seventy- 
live  years'  growth,  and  the  scene  of  many  a 


THE    FATE    OF    MARMIE.  103 


strange  story  among  the  wilds  of  Barren  Run: 
one  of  which  recounting  the  fate  of  Marmie,  is 
given  in  the  following  poem. 

Peter  Marrnie  (who,  with  William  Turnbull,  a 
wealthy  man  of  Philadelphia,  and  John  Holkar,  the 
French  naval  agent  at  that  post,  composed  the  firm  of 
Turnbull  &  Marmie,)  was  a  Frenchman,  a  high  liver,  a 
great  hunter,  and  an  enthusiastic  and  impetuous  man 
in  everything  in  which  he  engaged.  In  1793,  the  firm 
dissolving,  he  was  left  alone  with  the  works  — 
according  to  the  legend,  to  go  on  from  bad  to 
worse,  until,  in  despair,  he  terminated  his  exist 
ence  as  recited  in  the  poem. 

For  the  facts  about  this  old  furnace  and  the  firm  — 
with  never  a  word  about  the  fate  of  Marmie,  however,— 
I  take  pleasure  in  referring  the  reader  to  the  recent  pub 
lication  of  the  Secretary  of  the  American  Iron  and  Steel 
Association,  my  esteemed  friend  and  coadjutor, 
James  M.  Swank,  Esq.,  to  wit,  his  Introduc 
tion  to  a  History  of  Ironmaking  and  Coal 
Mining  in  Pennsylvania,  published  in  1878. 

Like  a  grim  volcano,  stands  the 

Furnace  of  my  rambling  rhyme  — 

Stands  the  furnace  of  the  Frenchman, 
Marmie,  of  the  olden  time. 

Roaring  in  its  glazed  boshes 

With  forebodings  dire  and  dread  ; 

Belching  flamelit  smoke  from  out  the 
Crater  of  its  tunnel-head  ! 

Till  anon  the  molten  metal 

From  the  hollow  mountain  breaks  — 
Rushing  down  into  the  valley 

Floods  of  fire  to  lava  lakes  ! 

When,  upon  the  sloping  gang'way 

Leading  to  the  tunnel-head  — 
To  the  grim  volcano's  crater 

Belching  smoke  in  black  and  red  !  — 

See  ascending,  lo  !  the  Frenchman, 
Marmie,  with  his  hounds  and  horn  — 

Like  a  hunter  of  the  wildwood, 
At  the  breaking  of  the  morn  ! 


104  ST.    GLAIR, 


To  the  quarry  of  this  crater, 
With  a  hunter's  heated  blood, 

What  wild  beast  that  roams  the  forest, 
Hath  he  through  the  night  pursued  ? 

Christ  behold  I  the  dogs  in  couples 

Doth  he  in  the  crater  cast, 
Till  alone  on  the  volcano, 

Hark  I  he  winds  a  merry  blast  ! 

Tirr-ill  irr-ill  larry  o-hee  !  — 

Why  that  gleaming,  curling  wreath 

Of  the  smoke  above  the  crater  ? 
In  is  Marmie  at  the  death  ! 

In  is  Marmie,  like  a  hunter, 

At  the  death  of  what  wild  beast  ? 

What  but  that  pursued  at  midnight 
To  the  quarry  in  his  breast ! 

Like  a  grim  volcano,  stands  the 
Furnace  in  the  darkened  dell. 

Where  the  ironmaster  hunter, 
Marmie,  wound  his  horn  in  hell  I 

But  the  flre  no  longer  rages 
In  the  hollow,  glazed  womb, 

And  the  mantling  mould  of  ages 
Creeps  upon  the  furnace  tomb. 

Silent  as  the  bat- winged  cavern, 

Till  the  wind  sweeps  through  the  dell, 

When  the  hunter,  on  the  hillside. 
Hears  the  Frenchman's  horn  in  hell  ! 


-  1791  — 

ST.    CLA1R. 


Arthur  St.  Clair  was  a  Major  General  in  the  United 
States  army  during  the  Revolution.  After  a  long  life  of 
honor  in  both  military  and  civil  service,  in  his  old  age, 
he  was  hounded  by  the  humiliations  of  a  nation's  curse, 
and  the  ingratitude  of  a  republic,  till,  seeking  a  refuge 


ST.    CLAIR.  105 


from  the  voice  of  his  fellow-man,  he  fled  to  the  wilder 
ness  of  a  mountain-top,  where  he  ended  his  days  in  de 
spair.  The  event  which  brought  down  upon  him,  and 
most  undeservingly,  the  odium  and  maledictions  of  the 
people,  was  the  most  disastrous  defeat  of  the  expedition 
of  1791,  under  his  command  —  a  defeat  unparalleled,  save 
by  that  of  Hraddock,  for  slaughter,  and  fraught  with 
the  most  evil  of  consequences  to  the  United  States  at 
that  time.  On  a  tributary  of  the  Wabash,  in  the  present 
state  of  Ohio,  he  was  met  by  the  Indians,  under  the 
leadership  of  a  chief  of  the  Mississago  tribe,  and  routed, 
with  a  loss  in  killed  and  missing  of  two-thirds  of  his 
army.  This  damned  him  through  life.  Even  Washing 
ton,  who  had  the  most  unbounded  trust  and  confidence 
in  him  as  a  brave  and  determined  soldier,  could  not  re 
frain  from  severe  and  bitter  imprecation.  The  old  man , 
stung  to  the  heart,  secured  with  the  remnant  of  his 
shattered  fortune,  a  piece  of  land  on  the  Chestnut  Ridge, 
above  Youngstown,  in  Westmoreland  county,  and  thith 
er  he  fled,  and  remained  till  he  died  —  a  broken  hearted 
'man,  given  to  drink  in  his  gloom,  but  proud  and 
haughty  to  the  last.  Toasted  at  a  militia  muster  as  the 
"  Brave  but  unfortunate  St.  Clair,"  he  drew  his  sword 
in  an  instant,  and  would  have  slain  the  offender,  Find- 
ley,  the  first  Congressman  of  Westmoreland,  had  the 
words  not  been  retracted:  he  was  not  to  be  compli - 
mented  and  commiserated  in  a  breath;  not  he,  indeed, 
whose  achievements  in  the  service  of  England  and 
America,  in  peace  and  in  war,  were  deserving  of  glory 
without  a  compromising  stain  !  His  ashes  rest  in  the 
cemetery*which  bears  his  name  in  Greensburg,  beneath 
a  sandstone  monument,  erected,  as  a  bitter  taunt  there 
on  asserts,  "to  supply  the  place  of  a  noble  one, 
due  from  his  country." 

"  As  to  the  case  of  St.  Clair,"  said  Mr.  Ogle,  of  Som 
erset,  in  1817,  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  upon  the 
application  of  the  poor  old  soldier  for  a  pittance  from 
the  government  —  a  pittance  refused  him,  until  it  was 
too  late  — "  that  is  a  subject  which  ought  not  to  be  men 
tioned  in  this  House  in  the  face  of  day  —  the  treat 
ment  of  that  man  ought  to  be  spoken  of  here 
only  in  the  night !-" 


When  the  following  poem  was  written  in  1874,  it  was 
sent  to  Mr.  J.  Newton  Gotthold,  with  the  following 
iiote,  which,  with  the  poem,  the  accomplished  actor  and 
elocutionist  has  brought  before  the  public  already  in 
his  readings  on  the  stage  — 


10G  ST.    CLATK. 

I  send  you  a  Poem  —"St.  Clair."  If  there  is  becom 
ing  body,  put  your  life  in  it ;  if  there  is  comprehending 
senseT  put  your  soul  in  it;  and  as  you  love  Honor  and 
the  Pride  that  guards  it  as  an  impulse  to  the  greatest 
good  in  man  and  a  tower  of  strength  to  the  Nation,. 
make  this  humble  effort  a  mighty  to  teach  a  people,  un 
grateful  to  itself  in  its  history,  to  revere  instead  of  ig 
noring  the  brave  and  pi'oud  old  soldier,  St.  Glair;  that 
honored  fathers  may  then  die  without  dread,  lest  their 
skulls,  passing  from  their  shoulders  to  the  hands  of 
their  children,  may  not  descend  still  lower  to  the  feet 
of  their  children's  children  and  be  kicked  about 
as  foot-balls  for  pastime. 


Alone  in  the  primeval  wood, 

Upon  a  mountain's  ragged  crest, 

The  proud  and  hrave  old  soldier  stood, 
And  watched  the  sun  sink  in  the  west. 

Before  him  lay  Westmoreland's  wealth, 
Empurpled  with  the  evening's  blaze  ; 

Her  hills  like  glowing  cheeks  of  health, 
Her  vales  vast  depths  of  ruddy  haze. 

And  at  his  feet  a  burning  stream, 
The  limpid  Loyalhunna  sped, 

Reflecting  back  the  fiery  gleam, 
And  flaming  crimson  over  head. 

His  brow  was  black  with  sullen  thought,  • 
His  eye  was  fixed  and  glazed  and  dim,- 

Ah,  would  to  G-od  they  were  forgot, 
The  memories  that  haunted  him  ! 

For  as  the  gleaming  sun  went  down, 
Beneath  the  flaming  crimson  sky, 

A  flush  commingled  with  his  frown, 
And  fire  flashed  from  his  staring  eye. 

The  while  a  shudder  seized  his  heart, 
And  chilled  its  quivering  ebbing  flood  - 

He  saw  another  sun  depart, 

Sink  in  the  west  in  human  blood  ! 


'ST.    CLA1R.  107 


He  saw  another  sun  —  St.  Clair !  — 
The  glory  of  an  ancient  name 

That  gleamed,  a  blazon  bright  arid  fair, 
In  England's  firmament  of  fame  ; 

He  saw  another  sun  —  St.   Clair  !  — 
The  hom.r  that  had  brightly  shone, 

Uudimued  in  lustre  by  the  glare, 

When  side  by  side  with  Washington  • 

He  saw  another  sun  —  his  own  !  — 
Sink  in  the  west  in  human  gore. 

In  woe  and  misery  go  down, 
To  rise  again,  ah,  nevermore  I 

Accursed  the  day  when  Victory 
Assumed  the  red  Miami's  plume, 

And  hurled  his  tomahawk  on  high, 
Exultant  over  St.  Glair's  doom  ! 

When  Vengeance  knew  but  savage  bound, 
And  Carnage  glut  its  soul  with  blood  ; 

Till,  springing  from  each  gaping  wound. 
The  Wabash  ran  a  reddened  flood ! 

When  following  in  Defeat's  red  path, 
Stalked  Infamy  with  flaming  breath, 

To  fire  a  nation's  eager  wrath, 

And  damn  St.  Clair  to  all  save  death  ! 

Accursed  this  day,  November  Four, 

Returning  as  in  Ninety-one, 
When  western  skies  are  red  with  gore, 

And  sets  in  blood  a  double  sun  ! 

The  old  man  closed  his  staring  eye, 
To  hide  the  scene,  but  all  in  vain  — 

The  vision  was  not  in  the  sky, 

But  seared  within  his  troubled  brain. 

The  gloaming  came  ;  a  panther's  scream 
Rang  from  the  oak  above  his  head  ; 

He  looked  again  —  the  sun's  last  beam 
Athwart  the  crimson  heavens  suread. 


108  ST.    CLA.IR. 


A  deathwhoop  echoes  in  the  cry  ; 

A  knife  gleams  in  the  flashing  ray  ; 
A  bleeding  scalp  is  in  the  sky  ; 

The  Night  has  slain  the  pale-face  Day  ! 

Ah,  woe  the  man,  whose  history 

Reveals  to  him  both  sound  and  sight ; 

Whose  glory's  in  a  bloody  sky, 

Whose  doom  is  in  the  blackest  night ! 

The  darkness  came  ;  the  panther  s  scream 
Again  rang  through  the  lonely  wood  , 

The  old  man  startled  in  his  dream, 
And  trembled  in  his  sullen  mood. 

He  startled  not  at  the  dread  beast 
Heard  in  the  wild  affrighted  air, 

But  at  the  brute  within  his  breast, 

That  Fate  had  chained  and  kenneled  there  — 

A  hound,  with  fang-envenomed  jaw, 
Sired  by  an  ingrate  nation's  curse  — 

A  hound,  with  an  insatiate  maw, 

Engorged  by  pride,  its  dam  and  nurse  - 

A  hound  that  barked  with  human  tongue, 
In  taunt  or  toast,  in  praise  or  blame  — 

A  hound  that  bit  in  old  and  young, 
In  ban  or  blessing,  fume  or  fame  — 

A  hound  that  in  the  panther's  cry, 
So  like  the  human  voice  of  pain. 

Pierced  through  his  ear,  an  agony 
That  rent  his  very  soul  in  twain  ! 

The  old  man  sank  upon  the  ground, 

In  abject  anguish  and  despair ; 
The  wilderness  he  peopled  found  — 

The  wail  of  woe  —  his  curse  !  —  was  there  ! 

Nor  ever  rose,  save  in  the  night, 
To  grope  for  an  unhallowed  cell, 

Where,  from  the  voice  of  man  he  might 
A  refuse  find  in  heaven  or  hell ! 


ST.    GLAIR.  109 


God  help  the  man  of  evil  dole, 

By  ^uilt,  or  pride  brought  to  despair. 

Till  mem'ry's  mad-dog  gnaws  his  soul  — 
God  help  the  brave  but  proud  St.  Clair!* 


:-  So  much  for  fiction,  in  comparison  with  the  fact,  to 
ftink  into  commonplace,  mayhap  contempt.  Since  wri 
ting  the  poem,  in  which  the  fate  of  St,  Glair  is  represent 
ed  in  images  and  symbols,  I  have  learned  that  a  real 
damnation  for  the  present  and  future  pursued  him  up 
on  the  mountain's  crest,  in  contemplation  of  which  the 
man  is  without  feeling  who  does  not  shudder.  The  wife 
of  St.  CM  air,  in  her  old  age,  became  insane,  and  wan 
dered  about  on  the  mountain  a  jabbering  maniac,  now 
bedecking  herself  with  ferns  and  flowers,  and  anon 
shrieking  in  affright  in  a  clump  of  laurel  whither  she 
had  fled  to  escape  a  terror  of  her  diseased  imagination. 
His  children  more  or  less  partook  of  the  mental  de 
rangement  of  their  mother  —  one,  a  son  named  Mur 
ray,  a  wretch  so  perverted  in  his  humanity  as  to  whip 
with  a  harness  trace  his  aged  father  when  he  would 
come  home  from  the  tavern,  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain, 
drunk  and  unruly  !  Now,  in  a  wife  to  a  husband,  the 
one-half  of  mankind  is  represented  as  the  present; 
while  in  his  descendants,  humanity  as  a  whole,  the 
future  forever.  In  this  light,  instead  of  the  scream  of 
the  imaginary  panther,  hear  the  shriek  of  his  crazy  wife 
ringing  forever  in  the  ears  of  the  distracted  old  man  ; 
and  instead  of  the  symbolic  hound, 

Sired  by  an  ingrate  nation's  curse, 

see  his  own  son,  with  the  leather  trace  uplifted  above 
his  head,  pursue  the  hoary -headed  hero  from  tree  to 
tree  — until  the  lash  descends,  and  the  doubly-damned 
old  man  sinks  to  the  earth  to  rise  no  more!  I  doubt  if 
history  furnishes  a  more  appalling  illustration  of  the 
ingratitude  of  a  republic  than  that  which  was  embod 
ied  in  his  wife  and  son  to  St.  Clair  in  his  old  age.  In 
comparison,  the  fate  of  Belisarius,  celebrated  for 
centuries,  is  tame. 

In  the  Appendix  to  this  volume,  the  curious  reader 
will  find  the  old  ballad  of  St.  Clair's  Defeat  which  is 
sung  occasionally  at  this  day.  Three  quarters  of  a 
century  ago  it  was  very  popular  with  the  wandering 
minstrels  of  the  Little  World,  the  blind  old  fiddlers  who 
appeared  at  the  militia  musters,  the  fairs,  the 
raisings,  and  upon  election  days.  Also,  several 
poems,  besides,  pertaining  to  this  memorable  man 
and  his  misfortunes. 


110  THE    HAUNTED     MAN. 


THE  HAUNTED  MA\. 


Reference  has  been  made  in  this  work  to  the  several 
forts  constructed  in  the  crutch  lormed  bj  the  Allegheny 
and  Monongahela  rivers  at  their  continence,  namely, 
the  fort,  in  process  of  const!  uction,  surrendered  by  En 
sign  Ward  to  Contrecceur ;  Fort  Duquesne,  built  by  the 
French  and  blown  up  upon  the  approach  of  Forbes; 
Fort  Pitt,  abandoned  by  order  of  General  Gage  in  ITTli ; 
and  Fort  Dunmore,  the  last  mentioned,  re-christened 
by  Dr.  Connolly  and  occupied  first  by  troops  irom  Vir 
ginia  and  afterward  by  soldiers  of  the  Revolution. 
There  remains  another  to  be  noted,  Fort  La  F alette, 
constructed  in  179^  — and  in  connection  therewith  a 
word  about  The  Haunted  Man. 

While  the  army  of  General  Wayne  was  rendezvous 
ing  at  the  place  and  time  lust  mentioned,  desertions 
were  very  frequent,  calling  loudly  for  the  execution  of 
the  orders  of  .Mad  Anthony  for  their  prevention.  Now, 
among  the  deserters  was  an  orderly  sergeant,  named 
Trotter,  who,  in  the  neighborhood  of  Hanna'stovvn,  was 
captured  by  three  men,  Col.  Robert  Hunter,  Capt.  Wil 
liam  Elliott,  and  John  Horrell,  and  remanded  to  the 
iort.  He  was  sentenced  to  be  shot,  and,  in  despite  of 
the  most  earnest  eilbrts  made  for  a  mitigation  or  a  sus 
pension  of  his  sentence  —  he  being  agreat  favorite  in  the 
army,  standing  high  in  the  estimation  of  Wayne,  and 
proving  conclusively  that  he  was  on  his  way  back  to  the 
fort  when  he  was  taken  as  a  deserter  —  he  was  executed 
accordingly.  Before  the  command  to  tire  was  given,  how 
ever,  the  condemned  man  imprecated  vengeance  from 
the  Almighty  upon  the  heads  of  his  captors,  reading  the 
terrible  maledictions  contained  in  the  one  hundred  and 
ninth  psalm  to  begin  with,  and  concluding  with  a  spe 
cific  curse  for  each  —  variously  given  by  various  legends, 
but  in  all  cases  fulfilled  to  the  letter.  In  the  following 
poem,  I  give  the  most  familiar  of  the  stories  told  of  Col 
onel  Hunter,  who,  of  the  three,  was  the  most  notorious 
in  Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  his  fate  a  terror  to  the 
betrayer  in  many  a  thrilling  and  mysterious  fireside 
tale.  He  died  of  diabetes  in  an  extraordinary  form  — 
of  course,  in  accordance  with  his  curse,  that  his  thirst 
might  never  be  quenched.  And  that  he  livert,  from  the 
execution  of  Trotter  to  the  day  of  his  death,  a  miserable 
life,  is  not  to  be  wondered  at :  for,  bearing  in  his  strange 
and  Inexplicable  disease  for  many  years  the  brand  of 


THE    HAUNTED    MAN.  Ill 

liis  condemnation  to  the  torments  of  hell  before  death, 
he  v^as  spurned  by  his  fellowrnan  without  in  proportion 
as  he  suffered  from  his  disease  within.  He  died  in 
Bairdstovvn,  Westmoreland  county,  within  the  recollec 
tion  of  many  persons  still  living  who  knew  him  well. 
The  dog  at  his  heels  continually  is  a.  curious  form  of  a 
pursuing  Nemesis,  to  say  the  least  of  it. 

John  Horrell  resided  in  Loyalhanna  township, 
Westmoreland  county.  And' that  he  was  possessed  with 
tormenting- devils,  is  a  matter  of  record  in  the  courts  — 
his  last  will  and  testament  having  been  contested  on 
the  grounds  of  insanity.  According  to  the  .legends  in 
vogue  among  the  people,  his  delusion  was  distracting  to 
him  at  times.  At  midnight,  as  certainly  as  midnight 
came,  he  seemed  to  be  —  or  he  was  thrown  out  of  bed, 
and  held,  on  his  back  upon  the  floor,  for  a  certain  time, 
the  while  the  devil  looked  over  the  headboard  of  the 
bed  at  him,  his  eyes  like  live  coals  in  the  wind,  and  his 
teeth  in  his  open  jaws  like  the  tines  of  a  harrow  !  At 
length  he  was  thrown  from  a  horse  and  killed,  his  horse 
taking  fright  at  the  devil  who  appeared  in  the  form  of  a 
white  goose  that  flew  across  the  road,  fanning  with  its 
wings  the  fumes  of  sulphur  in  the  distended  nostrils  of 
the  animal!  This  goose  was  the  familiar  fiend 
that  haunted  Horrell. 

Capt.  William  Elliot  resided  for  a  long  time  in  New 
Alexandria,  Westmoreland  county;  removing  thence 
to  Butler  county,  he  died  —  haunted  to  the  last  in  vari 
ous  ways.  As  he  was  given  to  drink,  it  may  be  pre 
sumed  that  his  delusions  were  those  of  delirium  tre- 
mens;  for,  as  I  am  informed,  by  the  venerable  Major 
Cooper  of  Saltsburg,  (who  was  an  acquaintance  of  the 
three  haunted  men,)  he  was  tormented  by  the  devil  gen 
erally  upon  the  heels  of  a  spree—  the  fiend  taking  the 
shape  of  a  dog  that  invariably  jumped  through  the 
window  at  his  victim! 

The  variations  of  this  fulfilment  of  the  curse  of  Ser 
geant  Trotter,  like  that  of  Evans,  who  was  executed  for 
murder  in  Qreensburg,  half  a  century  ago,  declaring  his 
innocence  to  the  last,  and  imprecating  curses  upon 
those  who  had  perjured  ihemselves  to  bring  him 
to  the  gallows,  would  fill  a  volume. 


Go  where  he  would,  by  field  or  flood, 
Or  through  the  glade  and  glen, 

O'er  moss  and  moor  and  sandy  shore, 
And  then  aback  again, 


112  THE     HAUNTED     MAN7. 


Still  did  he  find  the  dog  behind, 

As  when  the  chase  began  ; 
For  beyond  the  curse  of  the  sacred  verse , 

He  wtis  a  haunted   man  ! 

t-  Ho  !   ho  !  my  pet,  I'll  tire  you  yet  — 

I'll  mount  my  horse  and  ride  !  " 
So  through  the  wood  he  rode  and  he  rodeT 

Till  the  horse  fell  down  and  died. 
Still  did  he  find  the  dog  behind, 

As  when  the  chase  began  ; 
For  beyond  the  curse  of  the  sacred  verse, 

He  was  a  haunted  man  1 

•'Ho!  ho!  my  whelp,  I'll  singe  your  scalp, 

If  your  legs  I  cannot  tire  ;  " 
So  home  he  went  with  a  fell  intent, 

And  stood  before  the  fire. 
.Still  did  he  find  the  dog  behind, 

Within  the  frying  pan  ; 
For  beyond  the  curse  of  the  sacred  verse, 

He  was  a  haunted  man  ! 

Then  out  he  went  to  the  churchdoor  bent, 

And  before  the  altar  fell, 
;'  Here  you're  afraid  to  come,"  he  said  — 

'•  You  are  a  hound  of  hell  !  " 
Still  did  he  find  the  dog  behind. 

Ere  he  to  pray  began  ; 
For  beyond  the  curse  of  the  sacred  verse, 

He  was  a  haunted  man  ! 

Then  up  he  gat  and  shuddered  at 

His  doom  before  his  death  ; 
For  with  a  thirst  he  was  accursed 

That  fired  his  coolest  breath  ! 
And  he  knew  full  well  he  was  in  hell 

Beneath  an  awful  ban  — 
For  beyond  the  curse  of  the  sacred  verse, 

He  was  a  haunted  man  ! 


TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME.  113 

He  filled  his  cup,  and  turned  it  up 

A  thousand  times  a  day  ; 
Still  with  a  thirst  he  was  accursed, 

That  burnt  his  throat  away  ; 
While  at  his  side  the  dog  he  spied, 

As  when  his  thirst  began  ; 
For  beyond  the  curse  of  the  sacred  verse, 

He  was  a  haunted  man  ! 

Great  God  !  to  hear  him  curse  and  swear, 

And  see  his  vitals  wrung, 
When  the  water  boiled  and  the  hard  ice  broiled 

Upon  his  red-hot  tongue  ! 
While  the  devil's  yelp  was  in  the  whelp, 

That  followed  when  he  ran ; 
For  beyond  the  curse  of  the  sacred  verse, 

He  was  a  haunted  man  ! 

He  was,  I  ween,  a  haunted  man, 

A  being  doubly  cursed, 
Without  the  de'il's  dog  at  his  heels, 

Within,  eternal  thirst ! 
Woe !  woe  the  dole  of  the  sinful  soul, 

Within  a  life's  short  span  ; 
For  beyond  the  curse  of  the  sacred  verse, 

Is  the  Hell  of  the  Haunted  Man  ! 


—  1794  — 

A    TALE   OF   TOM    THE   TINKER'S 
TIME. 


The  following  paragraphs  have  been  extracted  from 
the  sketch  of  the  Whisky  Insurrection  collated  from 
various  sources  in  Day's  Historical  Collections  — noting, 
in  advance,  that  this  insurrection  was  the  first  rebel 
lious  outbreak  against  the  laws  of  the  United  States, 
and  that  it  served  to  associate  Southwestern 
Pennsylvania  with  Washington,  now  President, 
who  had,  in  the  service  of  Governor  Dinwiddie 
of  Virginia,  appeared  in  a  public  capacity  first  in 
this  region  in  early  manhood. 


714  TOM    THE    TINKER^   TIME. 


The  province  of  Pennsylvania,  as  early  as  1756,  had 
looked  to  the  excise  on  ardent  spirits  for  the  means  of 
sustaining  its  hills  of  credit.  The  original  law,  passed1 
ro  continue  only  ten  years,  was  from  time  to  time  con 
tinued,  ns  necessities  pressed  upon  the  treasury.  Dur 
ing  the  revolution,  the  law  was  generally  evaded1, in  the 
west,  by  considering  all  spirits  as  for  domestic  use,  such 
being  excepted  from  excise;  but  when  the  debts  of  the 
revolution  began  to  press  upon  the  states,  they  became- 
more  vigilant  in  the  enforcement  of  the  law.  Opposi 
tion  arose  at  once  in  the  western  counties.  Liberty- 
poles  were  erected,  and  people,  assembled  in  armsr 
chased  off  the  officers  appointed  to  enforce  the  lawr 
tarred  and  feathered  some  of  them,  singed  their  wigs, 
cut  off  the  tails  of  their  horses,  put  coals  in  their  boots, 
and  compelled  others  to  resign.  Their  object  was  to 
compel  a  repeal  of  the  law,  but  they  had  not  the  least 
idea  of  subverting  the  government. 

The  pioneers  of  this  region,  descended  as  they  were 
from  the  people  of  North  Britain  and  Ireland,  had  come 
very  honestly  by  their  love  of  whisky  ;  and  many  had 
brought  their  hatred  of  an  exciseman  directly  from  the 
old  country.  The  western  insurgents  followed,  as  they 
supposed,  the  recent  example  of  the  American  revolu 
tion.  The  first  attempt  of  the  British  parliament  —  the 
very  cause  of  the  revolution  —  had  been  an  excise  law. 
There  was  nothing  at  that  day  disreputable  in  either 
drinking  or  making  whisky.  No  temperance  societies 
then  existed:  to  drink  whisky  was  as  common  and 
honorable  as  to  eat  bread  ;  and  the  fame  of  "Old  Mo- 
nontrahela  "  was  proverbial,  both  at  the  east  and  the 
west.  Distilling  was  then  esteemed  as  moral  and  re 
spectable  as  any  other  business.  It  was  early  com- 
iiH'iiced,  and  extensively  carried  on,  in  Western  Penn 
sylvania.  There  was  neither  home  nor  foreign  market 
for  rye.  their  principal  crop;  the  grain  would  not  bear 
packing  across  the  mountains.  A  horse  couldcarry  but 
four  bushels  ;  but  he  could  take  the  product  of  24  bush 
els  in  the  shape  of  alcohol.  Whisky,  therefore,  was  the 
most  important  item  of  remittance,  to  pay  for  their  salt, 
sugar,  and  iron.  "The  people  had  cultivated  their  land, 
for  years,  at  the  peril  of  their  lives,  with  little  or  no 
protection  from  the  federal  government;  and  when,  by 
extraordinary  efforts,  they  were  enabled  to  raise  a  little 
more  grain  than  their  immediate  wants  required,  they 
were  met  with  a  law  restraining  them  in  the  liberty  of 
doing  what  they  pleased  with  the  surplus.  The  people 
of  Western  Pennsylvania,  therefore,  regarded  a  tax  on 
whisky  in  the  same  light  as  the  citizens  of  Ohio  would 


TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME.  115 


HOW  regard  a  United  States  tax  on  lard,  pork,  or  flour." 

It  should  be  remembered  also  in  this  connection, 
that  the  new  federal  government  was  but  recently  or 
ganized;  its  powers  were  but  little  understood  in  the 
west;  and  the  people  of  that  section  generally,  for  the 
previous  twenty  years,  had  been  much  more  in  the 
habit  of  opposing  a  foreign  government,  than  of  sus 
taining  one  of  their  own. 

The  state  excise  law,  after  remaining  for  years  n 
dead  letter,  was  repealed,  a  circumstance  not  likely  to 
incline  the  people  to  submit  to  a  similar  law  passed  by 
Congress  on  the  3d  March,  1791,  at  the  suggestion  of  Gen. 
Hamilton,  secretary  of  the  treasury.  This  law  laid  an 
excise  of  four-pence  per  gallon  on  all  distilled  spirits, 
The  members  from  Western  Pennsylvania,  Smiley  of 
Fayette,  and  Findley  of  Westmoreland,  stoutly  opposed 
the  passage  of  the  law,  and  on  their  return  among  their 
constituents  loudly  and  openly  disapproved  of  it.  Al 
bert  Gallatin,  then  residing  in  Fayette  county,  also  op 
posed  the  law  by  all  constitutional  methods.  It  was  with 
some  difficulty  that  any  one  could  be  found  to  accept 
the  office  of  inspector  in  the  western  district  on  account, 
of  its  unpopularity.  In  this  inflammatory  state  of  the 
public  mind,  all  that  was  necessary  to  kindle  a  blaze, 
was  to  apply  the  torch.  *  *  * 

A  term  had  come  into  popular  use  to  designate  the 
opposition  to  the  excise  law;  it  WHS  that  of  Tom  the 
Tinker,  It  was  not  given  by  adversaries  as  a  term  ol  re 
proach,  but  assumed  by  the  insurgents  in  disguise  at  an 
early  period.  "A  certain  John  Holcroft,"  says  Mr. 
Brackenridge,  "  was  thought  to  have  made  the  first '  ap 
plication  of  it  at  the  attack  on  William  Cough  ran, 
whose  still  was  cut  to  pieces.  This  was  humorously 
called  mending  his  still.  The  menders  of  course  must 
be  tinkers,  and  the  name  collectively  became  Tom  the 
Tinker."  Advertisements  were  put  up  on  trees,  and 
other  conspicuous  places,  with  the  signature  of  Tom  the 
Tinker,  threatening  individuals,  admonishing,  or  com 
manding  them.  Menacing  letters  with  the  same  signa 
ture  were  sent  to  the  Pittsburgh  Gazette,  with  orders  to 
publish  them  —  and  the  editor  did  not  dare  to  refuse.  "  At 
Braddock's  field  the  acclamation  was,  'Hurrah  for  Tom 
the  Tinker  ! ' — '  Are  you  a  Tom  Tinker's  man  ?  '  Every 
man  was  willing  to  be  thought  so,  and  some  had  great 
trouble  to  wipe  off  imputations  to  the  contrary."  Mr. 
Findley  says,  "it  afterward  appeared  that  the  letters 
did  not  originate  with  Holcroft,  though  the  inventor  01 
them  has  never  been  discovered."  *  *  * 


116  TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME. 


To  suppress  the  insurrection,  President  Washington 
called  out  the  militia  from  Pennsylvania,  Maryland, 
New  Jersey,  and  Virginia,  to  the  number  of  fifteen  thou 
sand.  Gov.  Lee,  of  Virginia,  was  cqmrrTider-in-chief. 
Gov.  Mifflin,  in  person,  commanded  the  Pennsylvania 
troops.  The  insurgents  were  overawed  by  this  force, 
even  before  it  reached  the  seat  of  insurrection,  and 
cheerfully  accepted  of  the  amnesty  which  was  pro 
claimed.  A  few  leaders  were  arrested,  sent  to  Phil 
adelphia,  and  tried  in  the  U.  S.  Court.  Two  only  were 
convicted,  and  these  were  afterward  pardoned.  The  ex 
cise  officers  resumed  their  duties  without  opposition. 


Come,  lithe  and  listen,  gentlemen 

And  ladies,  while  in  rhjme, 
A  tale  I  tell  of  what  befell 

In  Tom  the  Tinker's  time. 

It  fell  within  the  month  of  June, 

In  the  year  of  'Ninety-four, 
The  country  folk  uprising  broke 

Into  a  wild  uproar. 

And  of  all  the  insurrectionists 

The  greatest  hereabout  — 
As  all  agreed  to  be  his  meed  — 

Was  Ebenezer  Stout. 

For  why  ?  God  wot,  he  kicked  the  beam 

At  twenty  stone  and  odd  ; 
And  for  every  pound  of  flesh  he  had  ground 

An  acre  and  a  rod. 

And  thirteen  children  had  he  born 

Unto  his  wedded  spouse, 
Six  gushing  girls  with  golden  curls, 

And  seven  sturdy  boys. 

And  of  all  the  girls  with  golden  curls, 

Fair  Peggy,  in  her  smock, 
And  with  nothing  more  of  her  father's  store, 

Was  the  pick  of  all  the  flock. 


TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME.  117 


The  bursting  bud  of  the  red,  rt'd  rose 

Is  as  fair  as  flower  may  be  ; 
But  the  flitting  flush  of  Peggy's  blush 

Was  a  fairer  sight  to  see. 

And  oh,  the  goodness  of  her  heart. 

What  tongue  of  man  can  tell ; 
For  she  lived  to  prove  that  truth  and  love 

On  earth  as  in  heaven  may  dwell. 

And  many  a  gallant  suitor  came 

With  a  fond  and  hopeful  air  ; 
And  as  many  went,  with  their  time  misspent, 

In  darkness  and  despair. 

For  well-a-day,  a  neighbor  lad, 

Of  worth,  and  manly  mien, 
Had  filled  her  eye  with  phantasy 

That  none  else  could  be  seen. 

It  fell  upon  a  summer  day, 

While  cowering  in  the  fern 
Of  the  shady  nook  in  the  bend  of  the  brook, 

Him  bathing  she  did  discern. 

The  while  he  stood  upon  the  bank 

To  doff  and  don  his  clothes, 
Her  eyes  of  blue  gleamed  like  the  dew 

Upon  a  smothered  rose  ! 

And  oh,  her  heart  high  in  her  Irtilse, 

Went  with  the  clap  of  a  mill ; 
Albeit  her  breath  in  the  arms  of  death 

Could  not  have  been  more  still ! 

0  secret  sight  unto  a  maid 

Of  a  mother-naked  man,  — 
Forget  it  ever  will  she  ?  Never, 

Do  what  she  may  or  can. 

So  Peggy,  syne,  ne'er  dreamed  of  man, 

As  modest  maidens  may, 
But  his  were   the  charms  of  the  lily-white  arms, 

She  beheld  that  summer  day. 


118  TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME. 


John  Berkley  hight,  a  sober  lad 

Whose  words  were  in  his  work  — 

With  a  steady  pace  and  an  even  trace, 
Withouten  halt  or  jerk. 

The  while  the  country  lads  about, 

With  braggart  din  and  noise. 
Paraded  here  and  mustered  there, 

As  Tom  the  Tinker's  boys. 

John  kept  in  the  field  with  his  scythe  and  plough, 

From  early  morn  till  night, 
With  barely  a  look  at  the  mustering  folk 

When  they  appeared  in  sight. 

And  oh,  to  hear  afar  afield 

His  merry  voice  in  tune, 
Was  a  song  more  dear  to  Peggy's  ear 

Than  all  the  birds  of  June  ! 

And  oh,  to  wear  in  her  golden  hair 

The  flower  his  love  expressed, 
Was  to  be  in  heaven  with  her  sins  forgiven 

Among  the  ever  blest ! 

But  modest  worth  to  make  or  mar, 

When  neighbors  neighbors  scan, 
Is  a  shining  mark  when  all  is  dark, 

E'en  in  the  humblest  man. 

Erelong  the  neighbors  one  and  all, 

In  honest  Berkley  saw 
The  only  wight  who  would  not  tight 

Against  the  Excise  Law  — 

Of  laws  accursed  the  very  worst 

That  ever  was  made  or  will, 
Since  a  tax  it  laid  on  the  whiskey  made, 

By  rating  the  farmer's  still. 

The  still,  forsooth,  by  means  of  which 

The  farmer  packed  his  grain, 
Over  mountains  and  hills,  four  hundred  miles. 

To  the  marts  upon  the  main. 


TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME.  119 


The  still,  God  wot,  that  sometime  bought 

The  acre  and  the  rod 
Of  goodly  ground  to  match  each  pound 

Of  the  twenty  stone  and  odd  — 

Of  Ebenezer  Stout  —  the  sire 

Of  Peggy,  the  loving  and  loved, 
And  the  neighbor  ot  John  who  frowned  most  upon 

The  worth  which  his  heart  approved. 

U0ut  on  the  loon  !  "  quo'  the  farmer,  Stout, 

With  many  a  wicked  curse  ; 
"Than  his  wife  to  be,  I'd  rather  see 

My  Peggy  a  corse  —  or  worse  I  " 

Oh,  never  a  word  fair  Peggy  heard 

That  sank  her  in  such  sorrow ; 
The  rose  of  to-day  faded  fast  and  away 

To  the  lily  of  to-morrow. 

Meantime,  there  sat  in  her  father's  hall. 

A  suitor  for  her  hand, 
Who  marched  to  Tom  the  Tinker's  drum, 

The  captain  of  a  band. 

And  when  he  saw  fair  Peggy's  tears, 

With  jealous  hatred  fired, 
To  vent  his  spite  and  show  his  might, 

With  her  father  he  conspired  — 

To  summon  Tom  the  Tinker's  men, 

To  meet  in  mask  in  the  lane, 
To  brand  with  shame,  the  noble  name 

Of  the  law-abiding  man. 

The  law-abiding  man  !  God  wot, 

A  stern  rebuke  to  all 
Most  eager  to  shirk  their  daily  work 

At  Tom  the  Tinker's  call ! 

The  law-abiding  man  !    Aye,  aye, 

And  if  a  saint  as  well, 
Unto  the  worst  of  the  vile  accursed, 

The  embodiment  of  hell ! 


120  TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME. 


The  law-abiding  man  !    Yea,  yea, 

And  if  a  Christ  he  be, 
For  what  is  he  born  but  a  crown  of  thorn, 

A  spike,  and  the  gallows-tree  ! 

u  What  ho  !   without !  "  cried  honest  John, 

At  midnight,  to  the  throng 
That  gathered  before  his  cabin  door 

In  mask  to  do  him  wrong. 

"  Your  kine  have  jumped  your  neighbor's  fence/7 

The  captain  spake  and  again  ; 
"  Come  out,  belyve,  and  I'll  help  you  drive 

Them  into  your  own  pen." 

But  when  the  honest  man  appeared, 

Behold  a  ruffian  band 
Of  men  and  boys  with  deaffening  noise 

Appeared  on  every  hand  ! 

And  when  the  captain  spake  the  word, 
They  seized  their  wondering  prey, 

And,  with  jibes  and  jeers  and  ringing  cheers, 
Bore  him  by  force  away. 

And  when  they  reached  a  chosen  spot. 

They  stripped  him  to  the  skin, 
And  with  tar  besmeared  his  hair  and  beard, 

And  his  body  from  feet  to  chin. 

Then,  ripping  up  a  feather-bed, 

They  thrust  him  in  the  tick  — 
That  he  might  fly  as  high  as  the  sky, 

With  the  feathers  that  might  stick  ! 

Then,  taking  up  a  ragged  rail, 

They  bound  him  fast  astride  — 
Ere  he  learned  to  fly  as  high  as  the  sky, 

To  teach  him  how  to  ride. 

Then,  oho  !  aha !  with  a  clash  of  arms, 

And  many  a  ribald  shout, 
They  bore  their  bird  into  the  yard 

Of  Ebenezer  Stout ! 


TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME.  121 

And  loft  him  perched  upon  the  rail 

In  helpless  misery 
In  the  light  of  the  moon,  that  night  of  June, 

Beneath  fair  Peggy's  eye  ! 

"Rise,  father,  rise!  a  wretched  wight 

Ts  lying  at  the  door  !  " — 
But  never  a  word  her  father  heard, 

For  his  redoubled  snore.  • 

uRise,  brothers,  rise  !  a  wretched  wight 

Is  moaning  in  the  yard  !  "  — 
But  as  clods  of  clay,  her  brothers  lay 

And  never  heard  a  word. 

t;Rise,  sisters,  rise  !  in  pity  rise  ! 

Oh  !  hear  you  not  my  call !  — " 
And  into  their  ears  fell  Peggy's  tears, 

But  they  lay  as  deaf  as  the  wall. 

"Rise,  mother,  rise!  in  mercy  rise! — 

0  Mother  of  Christ  forbid 
That  I  in  vain  should  call  again  !  " — 

But  thrice  and  again  she  did. 

0  marveling,  mournful,  musing  maid, 

With  the  world  turned  upside  down, 

When  the  hearts  of  mother  and  sister  and  brother 
And  father  are  hardened  to  stone  ! 

With  a  feeble,  faltering,  trembling  step, 

Poor  Peggy  crossed  the  floor, 
And  with  parting  teeth  and  indrawn  breath, 

Unbarred  the  oaken  door. 

Then  with  hlr  eyes  to  heaven  turned, 

Syne  to  the  moonlit  ground, 
She  came  upon  the  wretch  unknown 

Unto  the  rail  fast  bound. 

And,  with  her  fingers  fair  and  soft, 

The  knots  were  soon  undone ; 
When  a  single  word  half  uttered  but  heard 

Revealed  unto  her,  John  ! 


122  TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME. 


0  mournful  sight  unto  the  maid 

In  the  maddening  light  of  the  moon  ! 

These  —  these  the  charms  of  her  loverrs  arm& 
In  the  rosy  month  of  June  ! 

These  —  these  the  charms  of  her  lover's  arms- 
Seen  in  her  dreams  afar, 

Within  her  grasp  and  midnight  clasp, 
A  filth  of  feathers  and  tar ! 

With  a  sad,  shrill  shriek,  poor  Peggy  raised 

The  sleepers  fast  abed, 
To  find  her  alone  in  a  dt'aih-like  swoon, 

And  her  wretched  lover  fled. 

And  many  a  fair  day  came  and  went, 

Ere  Peggy  showed  her  face 
To  father  or  mother,  or  sister,  or  brother, 

But  in  some  secret  place. 

Perchance  above  in  the  gabled  loft, 

Or  below  in  the  alder  shade, 
Or  afar  in  the  nook  in  the  bend  of  the  brook, 

A  melancholy  maid. 

And  many  a  fair  day  came  and  went, 

Ere  John  again  was  seen  ; 
Till  at  length  with  a  hoe  in  a  weedy  row, 

He  appeared  as  he  ever  had  been  — 

At  work  and  alone,  forby  the  sound 

Of  Tom  the  Tinker's  drum, 
His  crown  to  wear  and  his  cross  to  bear, 

Until  the  end  has  come. 

When  lo  !  there  came  from  far  andmear 

A  throng  to  view  the  wight, 
Whose  honest  name  was  alone  to  blame 

For  the  work  of  hate  and  spite. 

0  fore  and  after  sight  of  man  ! 

Night  turning  into  day, 
And  black  to  white  and  wrong  to  right, 

The  prowler  to  the  prey  ! 


TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME.  123 


But  never  a  word  but  yea  or  nay, 

To  young  or  old,  John  said, 
As  he  worked  away  from  day  to  day 

With  a  heavy,  humbled  head. 

Until  the  captain  of  the  band 

Came  strutting  up  the  road, 
And  spake  of  tar  as  munitions  of  war, 

And  feathers  to  staunch  the  blood. 

When,  with  a  blazing,  bursting  eye, 
John  raised  his  head  and  hoe. 

And  while  with  ire  his  blood  was  afire 
He  struck  a  hasty  blow. 

A  hasty  blow  that  cleft  the  skull 

Of  the  captain  to  -the  brain, 
And  left  the  good  man  foul  with  blood  — 

As  if  Abel  had  murdered  Cain  ! 

O  horror  of  hell  to  the  guilty  wretch 
Whose  hand  with  blood  is  red  ! 

Fiends  in  the  air  —  here  —  everywhere  — 
Point  to  him  from  the  dead  ! 

In  vain  he  flees  to  the  darkest  dell, 
Or  hides  in  the  deepest  cave, 

The  fiends  appear  still  in  the  air 
Before  him  and  a  grave ! 

With  this  dread  sight  before  his  eyes, 

John  fled  into  the  wood  — 
To  the  shady  nook  in  the  bend  of  the  brook, 
WThere  naked  he  had  stood. 

When  lo  !  fair  Peggy  uprose  from  the  fern, 
And  called  him  thrice  and  again  ; 

But  never  a  word  that  Berkley  heard 
So  rent  his  soul  in  ^wain. 

For  with  her  voice  the  fiends  in  the  air 

Called  each  and  every  one, 
Till  the  darkened  dell  was  an  echoing  hell 

Of  a  thunder-pealing  John  ! 


124  TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME. 


Into  the  swirling  of  the  stream, 

He  sprang  with  might  and  main  ; 

And  long  in  the  brook  will  Peggy  look 
Ere  she  see  her  lover  again  ! 

Yet,  with  hair  unkempt  and  tattered  gown, 

She  ran  along  the  stream, 
In  vain  to  recover  the  drowning  lover 

Of  a  distracting  dream. 

Sometime  she  saw  a  lifted  hand, 

Anon  a  face  in  the  foam  ; 
Sometime  she  heard  a  parting  word 

In  a  bubble,  syne  a  Come ! 

Until,  unto  the  gathering  throng 

Which  the  murderer  persued, 
The  maiden  came  withouten  shame, 

As  a  new-born  baby  nude. 

"Come,  father,  come  !  a  drowning  man 

Is  reaching  for  relief !  ''  — 
Oh,  never  a  word  her  father  heard, 

So  cast  him  into  grief. 

"Come,  brothers,  come!  a  drowning  man 
Uplifts  his  hand  for  aid  !  "  — 

Oh,  never  a  word  her  brothers  heard, 
Their  heads  so  heavy  made. 

"  Come,  sisters,  come  !  my  dearest  love 
Is  sinking  thrice  and  again  !  "  — 

Oh,  never  a  word  her  sisters  heard 

Their  hearts  so  pierced  with  pain. 

"  Come,  mother,  come  !  and  make  my  bed 

Upon  the  floating  foam  ; 
For  here  the  bride  I  must  abide 

The  coming  of  the  groom  ! 

"See,  here  he  comes  in  the  white,  white  toam 

But  he  is  whiter  far  — 
But  now,  alack  !  he  is  foul  and  black  — 

A  filth  of  feathers  and  tar !" 


TOM  THE  TINKER\S  TIME.  125 


Oh,  sadly,  sadly  rang  the  voice 

Of  Peggy  day  and  ni.^ht, 
With  the  shifting  scene  of  what  hath  been 

Forever  in  her  sight. 

The  while  the  farmer's  house  and  lands 

From  taut  to  tattered  passed  — 
The  fields  unuiown,  the  fences  down, 

His  wealth  a  common  waste. 

For  away  at  Tom  the  Tinker's  call 

Were  the  sturdy  boys  in  arms ; 
And  away  were  the  girls  with  the  golden  curls 

In  the  public  mart  with  their  charms. 

All  gone,  all  gone,  save  Peggy  alone, 
With  her  father  and  her  mother ; 

Her  pitiful  prayer  ever  in  the  ear 
Of  one  or  of  the  other. 

Until,  behold,  an  army  came 

The  excise  to  maintain, 
And  camped  before  the  farmer's  door, 

Full  fifteen  thousand  men. 

And  never  a  grain  in  the  farmer's  bin, 

But  went  the  army  to  feed  ; 
And  never  a  stake  that  would  rive  or  break, 

But  burned  to  bake  the  bread. 

Until  the  insurrectionists, 

Without  or  flag  or  head, 
In  broken  bands  with  empty  hands 

In  wild  disorder  fled. 

The  leader  of  the  throng,  a  myth, 

A  name  and  nothing  more, 
That,  with  feathers  and  tar,  fought  the  Whiskey  War, 

Of  Seventeen-Ninety-four ! 

When,  the  battle  won  without  firing  a  gun, 

The  army  marched  again, 
Back,  over  the  miles  of  mountain  and  hills  — 

Full  fifteen  thousand  men. 


120  TOM  THE  TINKER'S  TIME. 


And  in  the  van,  behind  a  cart. 

With  a  rope  his  neck  about, 
High  handed  to  be  to  the  traitor's  tree. 

Marched  Ebenezer  Stout  ! 

Oh,  weary,  weary  was  the  way 

Behind  the  culprit  cart ; 
But  never  the  weight  of  his  flesh  was  ;is  "-resit. 

As  the  heaviness  of  his  heart. 

And  dreary,  dreary  were  the  walls 

Of  the  prison  where  he  lay 
Until  released,  but  forever  disgraced, 

A  year  hence  and  a  day. 

And  weary,  weary  was  the  walk 

Of  the  farmer,  sick  and  sore, 
Over  mountains  and  hills,  four  hundred  miles, 

Back  to  his  homestead  door. 

And  oh,  the  anguish  of  his  heart. 

When,  turning  into  the  yard. 
Poor  Peggy's  appeal  without  avail. 

Kepeated  thrice,  he  heard. 

"Come,  father,  come!  a  wretched  wight 
Is  drowning  in  the  stream  !  "  — 

Oh,  when  will  Death  cut  short  her  bre;tth. 
And  end  her  awful  dream  ! 

"Nay,  nay,  old  man  !   hold  off  your  hand  ! 

My  father  was  fat  and  fair ; 
The  biggest  man  in  all  the  land  ; 

And  coal-black  was  his  hair ! 

"  Out,  out,  you  loon  !  my  father  has  gone 

Away  in  the  army's  van, 
High  hanged  to  be  to  the  traitor's  tree, 

A  Tom-the-Tinker's  man ! 

"  Nay,  nay,  old  man  —  thy  beard  is  white, 

But  my  love  is  whiter  far  — 
But  now,  alack,  he  is  foul  and  black, 

A  filth  of  feathers  and  tar !" 


THE    SPECTRE    SHIP.  127 


Oh,  may  this  fair  land  of  the  West, 

See  never,  never  more, 
The  woe  and  grief  without  relief 

Of  Seventeen-'Ninety-four  ! 

When  Tom  the  Tinker  ruled  supreme, 
And  wrought  the  Whiskey  War  — 

The  mask  and  the  might  of  hatred  and  spite 
To  befoul  with  feathers  and  tar  ! 


—  1798  — 

THE  SPECTRE  SHIP  OF  PORT  PITT. 


One  of  the  most  curious  pages  in  the  history  of 
Southwestern  Pennsylvania  is  that  which  relates  to  the 
construction  at  Pittsburgh  and  Elizabethtown  of  ocean 
vessels  —  galleys,  schooners  and  brigs,  of  from  two  to 
six  hundred  tons  burthen  —  more  than  two  thousand 
miles  from  the  sea.  This  industry  was  inaugurated  by 
The  government  in  the  year  179S,  by  the  construction  of 
two  armed  galleys,  in  order  to  put  the  valley  of  the  Ohio 
in  a  state  of  defence,  in  anticipation  of  war  with  France 
and  an  exposure  to  the  enemy  of  the  western  frontier 
through  the  channel  of  the  Mississippi.  Afterward  it 
was  continued  until  perhaps  a  score  of  ocean  vessels 
were  built  in  these  inland  ports — the  scraggy  processes  of 
the  backbone  of  the  continent  being  seen  from  the  mast 
heads  in  either!  However  foreign,  accordingly,  at  first 
sight,  the  language  of  the  sea  may  be  to  the  legenary  his 
tory  of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  the  reader  must  ac 
knowledge  now  that  it  is  legitimate. 


It  was  when  the  grandsire,  that  totters  to-day 

Adown  the  hill  to  the  tomb, 
Was  but  a  thought  by  phantasy  wrought 

In  a  musing  maiden's  womb. 

The  keel  of  a  stately  ship  was  laid 
In  the  Port  of  Pitt,  in  glee  — 

In  the  ebbing  flood  of  the  River  of  Blood, 
Two  thousand  miles  from  the  sea ! 


1'28  THE   SPECTRE    SHIF. 

The  keel  of  a  stately  ship  was  laid, 

With  the  caul*  of  a  babe  inwrought, 

That  never  beneath  the  wave  of  Death, 

Should  the  ship  and  her  crew  be  brought  I 

With  a  ho  f  heave-O  !  and  a  hearty  heave-O! 

The  caul  in  the  keel  was  castr 
To  bind  forever  on  ocean  and  river 

The  Future  with  the  Past. 

But  alack  the  dayr  the  fatal  caul 

Was  forgotten  with  its  mirth  ; 
The  ship  was  wrought  like  a  babe  begot 

And  doomed  for  aye  at  birth  ! 

Aye,  the  ship  was  wrought  like  a  babe  begot, 

And  doomed  at  birth  for  aye, 
On  the  ebbing  flood  of  the  River  of  Blood 

To  sail  to  the  sea  —  and  alway  ! 

And  now,  at  length,  the  ship  was  built, 
And  cleared  as  the  papers  were  writ, 

Among  the  hills,  two  thousand  miles 
From  the  sea,  in  the  Port  of  Pitt. 

With  a  ho  !  heave-O  !  and  a  hearty  heave-O  ! 

That  echoed  from  shore  to  shore  ; 
While  the  guns  of  the  Fort  that  guarded  the  Port 

Commingled  their  thundering  roar  ! 

With  a  cargo  of  whisky  and  flour  and  furs. 

And  a  crew  of  brave  men  all, 
The  ship  clove  the  wave,  as  if  scoffing  the  grave 

In  the  doom  of  her  keel-wrought  caul. 

And  adown  the  flood  of  the  River  of  Blood, 

She  rode  to  the  salt,  salt  sea, 
Where,  spreading  her  sail  to  the  sou'-west  gale, 

She  sped  in  pride  and  glee. 

Like  the  fairy  boat  of  a  feather  afloat 

In  a  basin,  before  the  breath, 
Of  a  darling  boy  in  the  arms  of  Joy, 

Between  the  child  and  Death  ! 


THE    SPECTRE    SHIP.  129 

Like  the  fairy  boat  of  a  feather  afloat, 

She  sped  in  glee  and  pride,. 
Till  behold  !  in  the  morn,  in  the  Port  of  Leghorn, 

She  rode  on  the  glittering  tide  ! 

With  ;i  ho  !   heave-0  !•  and  a  hearty  heave-0  ! 

The  anchor  was  cast  in  sport  ; 
When  the  captain  and  mate  in  formal  state 

Sought  the  Master  of  the  Port  — 

The  right  to  claim,  in  their  country's  name, 
To  trade  in  the  Port  of  Leghorn, 

The  store  of  goods  which  over  the  floods 
The  fated  ship  had  borne. 

But  when  the  Master  their  papers  read, 

Sorely  puzzled  was  his  wit ; 
For  never  before  in  a  life  of  three  score 

Had  he  heard  of  the  Port  of  Pitt ! 

When,  turning  around,  he  stamped   the  ground, 

And  swore  a  fearful  oath, 
That  the  captain  and  mate  were  his  pris'ners  of  state, 

And  that  he  would  hang  them  both  — 

That  he  would  hang  them  as  pirates  both  ; 

For  never  did  tongue  before  tell 
Of  the  Port  of  Pitt,  save  in  Holy  Writ, 

Where  it  spake  of  the  Pit  of  Hell ! 

Bur  never  a  word  spake  the  captain  and  mate, 

As  if  they  were  afeared, 
While  they  spread  on  the  lap  of  the  Master  a  map 

Of  the  port  whence  they  had  cleared. 

Two  thousand  miles  from  the  sea  and  more, 

The  Master  followed  the  course 
Of  the  ebbing  flood  of  the  River  of  Blood 

Till  he  came  to  its  forked  source. 

And  never  a  word  spake  the  captain  and  mate, 
Till  the  Master  read  twice  and  again, 

These  words  quaintly  writ,  "  The  Port  of  Pitt. 
The  site  of  the  French  fort,  Duquesne !  " 


13(7  THE    SPECTRE    SHIP, 


When  up  spake  the  captain  and  up  spake  the  mate,. 

"  Now  hang  us,  if  you  please  ; 
But  remember,  the  Port,  that  supplanted  the  Fort, 

Will  revenge  us  over  the  seas  ?  " 

u  But  for  this  map,'*  the  Master  said, 

''  And  its  memory  of  Duquesne, 
I  had  hung  you  both  ;  ''|  and  he  called  with  an  oath, 

For  a  basket  of  champagne. 

And  the  wine  went  around  and  around  again, 

With  the  sallies  of  their  wit  ; 
While  the  Master  poured  and  with  laughter  roared, 

As  he  drank  to  the  Port  of  Pitt  I 

Till,  half  seas  over,  the  captain  and   mate, 

Bade  the  jolly  old  Master  adieu, 
And  tacked  their  way  to  the  landing  quay  — 

But  their  ship  was  not  in  view  t 

They  looked  north,  south,  east  and  west ; 

But  the  ship  and  her  crew  were  gone ! 
Till  the  captain  and  mate  were  sobered  straight, 

And  stood  as  if  turned  to  stone ! 

When  back  to  the  Master  they  sped  in  haste, 

Their  piteous  tale  to  tell, 
That  liefer  had  they  been  hanged  that  day 

Than  have  met  what  them  befell. 

k-Then  hanged  shall  ye  be,"  the  Master  swore, 

.  To  the  memory  of  Duquesne, 
And  the  scurvy  trick  which  ye  learned  of  Old  Nick 
To  cheat  me  of  my  champagne  !  " 

And  hang  them  he  did  as  pirates  —  and  fools,' 

With  less  discretion  than   wit, 
To  leave  their  gold  in  the  vessel's  hold, 

To  be  spent  by  the  crew  of  Port  Pitt. 

While  out  to  sea  sped  the  gallant  ship, 

With  the  caul  of  the  living  cast 
In  her  keel  beneath,  and  the  black  flag  of  death 

Nailed  fast  to  her  mizen  mast ! 


THE    SPECTRE    SHIP.  131 


While  a  murderous  crew  of  mutineers 
With  swords  fought  hand  to  hand, 

Till  the  deck  was  red  with  the  hot  blood  shed 
For  the  gallant  ship's  command  — 

Till  the  deck  was  red  with  the  hot  blood  shed. 

From  many  a  gaping  wound, 
And  never  a  wight  to  stand  upright 

On  the  bloody  deck  was  found. 

Save  one  alone,  the  boatswain,  by  chance 

With  both  legs  cut  amain, 
Who  stood  and  fast  with  his  back  to  a  mast, 

And  defied  the  crew  thrice  and  again. 

When  with  one  accord,  to  the  boatswain  was  given 

The  gallant  ship's  command, 
To  spare  no  prize  in  the  sea-rover's  eyes 

On  the  salt,  salt  sea  or  the  land. 

Writh  a  ho  !  heave-0  !  and  a  hearty  heave-O  ! 

On  the  capstan  the  boatswain  was  placed, 
With  the  sword  of  command  in  his  ready  hand, 

And  a  pistol-belt  round  his  waist. 

When  lo !  it  appeared  to  the  mutineers, 

That  not  a  man  on  board 
Had  lost  his  life  in  the  terrible  strife 

With  pike  and  gun  and  sword  ! 

With  a  ho  !  heave-0  !  and  a  hearty  heave-0  ! 

The  crew  began  to  feel 
The  might  of  the  charm  that  kept  them  from  harm, 

As  it  lay  unknown  in  the  keel ! 

Aye,  aye,  my  hearties !  what  blew  the  gale 

As  never  blew  gale  before, 
The  ship  like  a  feather  rode  out  the  weather, 

Though  she  hugged  a  rocky  shore ! 

And  oho  !  aha  !  the  fierce  delight, 

To  snatch  the  fleeing  prey 
From  the  very  teeth  of  the  jaws  of  Death 

In  the  breaker's  cloud  of  spray ! 


132  THE    SPECTRE    SHIP. 

Till,  overjoyed  in  the  might  of  .the  caul 
That  preserved  the  ship  and  crew, 

They  ventured  more  than  ever  before 

As  their  greed  the  more  ravenous  grew 

Till,  one  by  one,  on  the  bloody  deck 
Of  the  boarded  ship,  in  glee, 

The  wounded  died,  to  fall  o'er  the  side 
Of  the  vessel  into  the  sea  — 

Till,  one  by  one,  in  the  bloody  brawl 
Of  the  revelers  on  the  shore, 

The  ready  knife  took  the  luckless  life 
That  never  risked  death  before  — 

Till,  one  by  one,  beyond  the  might 

Of  the  caul  in  the  keel  inwrought, 

But  one  in  ten  of  fifty  men 

The  pipe  of  all  hands  brought  — 

The  first,  the  stump  on  the  capstan  set, 

The  second  on  the  mast, 
The  third  alone  with  a  loaded  gun, 

The  fourth  with  a  plummet  cast  — 

While  the  fifth  stood  at  the  winding  wheel 

To  guide  the  .'•hip  aright  — 
With  only  five  of  the  crew  alive 

Within  the  caul-charm's  might ! 

With  only  five  of  the  crew  alive, 

Like  the  senses  in  the  poll 
Of  Man  afloat  in  his  gallant  boat, 

With  a  caul  in  his  inwrought  Soul ! 

With  only  five  of  the  crew  alive, 

To  see,  to  hear,  to  feel, 
To  taste  and  to  smell  of  the  heaven  or  hell 

Inwrought  with  the  soul  in  her  keel ! 

With  only  five  of  the  crew  alive. 

Between  the  sky  and  the  wave  ; 
While  a  mint  of  gold  lay  in  the  hold, 

Like  the  labor  of  life  in  a  grave  ! 


THE    SPECTRE    SHIP.  133 


Like  the  labor  of  life  in  the  grave  of  Greed, 

That  sinks  in  its  self  dug  hole, 
Till,  in  the  form  of  a  hungry  worm, 

It  gnaws  into  its  own  soul ! 

Till,  behold  !  the  five  of  the  crew  alive, 

Unable  to  rob  on  the  waves, 
Took  of  the  gold  in  the  vessel's  hold 

And  bought  a  cargo  of  slaves. 

And  bought  a  cargo  of  human  slaves, 

As  black  as  black  could  be, 
And  spread  the  sail  to  the  sou'-east  gale, 

To  sell  them  over  the  sea. 

With  a  ho!  heave-0  !  and  a  hearty  heave-0  ! 

The  ship  drave  on  in  mirth  — 
Like  a  thought  s01"8  back  o'er  the  sea  of  life's  track, 

From  the  grave  to  to  the  cradle  of  birth  ! 

Like  a  thought  «°lllg  back  o'er  the  sea  of  life's  track, 

From  a  grave  in  the  hell  of  sin 
To  the  cradle  of  birth  in  the  heaven  on  earth 

That  in  the  past  hath  been  ! 

When  behold  !  a  cloud  appeared  in  the  wky 

And  spread  from  pole  to  pole, 
As  heavy  and  black  as  the  dreadful  rack 

Of  death  to  a  sinful  soul  ! 

The  while  the  gale  with  increasing  might, 

Blew  as  never  gale  blew  before, 
Till  the  boatswain's  word  was  no  longer  heard 

In  the  hurricane's  deaffening  roar  ! 

The  while  the  billows  heaved  and  swelled, 

Till,  behold  !  a  mountain  crest 
As  if  two  seas  had  dashed  and  together  crashed 

North  and  south,  from  the  east  and  the  west ! 

When,  through  the  wave,  the  vessel  drave 

With  the  black  flag  on  its  mast, 
And  rode  on  the  tide  on  the  other  side 

A  Spectral  Ship  of  the  Past  ! 


134  THE   SPECTRE   SHIP. 

A  spectral  ship  with  a  spectral  crew  — 

Five  spectral  sailors  in  all, 
In  a  spectral  boat  like  a  feather  afloat 

With  a  soul  in  her  inwrought  caul ! 

In  a  spectral  boat  like  a  feather  afloat, 

With  a  soul  that  lived  thro'  the  waves  ; 

And  within  the  hold,  the  gain  of  gold, 
In  five  hundred  spectral  slaves  ! 

Five  hundred  spectral  slaves  as  white 

As  the  foam  in  the  teeth  of  the  gale  ; 

For  tte  skins  of  the  blacks  had  been  flayed  from  their  backs 
And  sewed  into  the  sail ! 

Five  hundred  spectral  slaves  —  Oho ! 

That,  from  the  vessel's  hold, 
Shed  in  the  night  a  wondrous  light 

As  of  silver  spangled  with  gold  ! 

Till,  behold,  the  ship  in  the  midnight  gloom, 

In  the  awful  form  appeared 
Of  a  wreck  in  the  daze  of  the  lightning's  blaze. 

While  the  thunder-clap  is  heard  ! 

A  shape  of  light  in  the  blackest  of  night. 

When  the  blinded  eyes  are  closed, 
And  the  ears  are  dead  in  a  maddened  head  — 

A  soul-seen  vessel's  ghost  ! 

With  —  behold  !  —  the  crew  in  the  wondrous  light, 

To  see,  to  hear,  and  to  feel, 
To  taste,  and  to  smell  of  the  midnight  hell 

Of  the  caul,  like  a  soul,  in  the  keel  ! 

The  first,  the  stump  on  the  capstan  set, 

The  second  on  the  mast, 
The  third  alone  with  a  loaded  gun, 

The  fourth  with  a  plummet  cast  — 

While  the  fifth  stood  at  the  winding  wheel 

To  guide  the  ship  aright, 
Before  the  gale  that  filled  the  sail 

In  the  everlasting  night ! 


THE    SPECTRE    SHIP.  135 

With  a  ho  !  heave-0  !  and  a  hearty  heave-0  ! 

The  ship  drave  on  in  mirth  — 
Like  a  thought  goi?g  back  o'er  the  sea  of  life's  track 

From  beyond  the  grave  to  birth  ! 

Back  o'er  the  deep  of  the  wisdom  of  age, 
And  the  shoal  of  youthful  wit  — 

Back  o'er  the  flood  of  the  River  of  Blood 
To  its  source  in  the  Port  of  Pitt ! 

With  a  ho !  heave-0  !  and  a  hearty  heave-0  ! 

The  ship  drave  into  the  port 
Whence  she  had  cleared  while  the  great  crowd  cheered, 

And  the  cannons  boomed  in  the  fort ! 

Christ  Jesu !  to  stand  on  the  trembling  bridge, 
In  the  sound  of  the  midnight  bell, 

As  the  ship  drives  in  —  the  Ship  of  Sin  ! 
Before  the  blast  of  Hell ! 

To  see  the  black  flag  on  the  mast, 

That  quivers  in  the  gale  ; 
And  the  skins  from  the  backs  of  the  flayed-alive  blacks 

That  flap  in  the  sable  sail ! 

To  see  the  crew  in  the  ghastly  hue 

That  issues  from  the  hold  — 
A  wondrous  light  as  if  shed  in  the  night 

From  silver  spangled  with  gold  ! 

The  first,  the  stump  on  the  capstan  set, 

The  second  on  the  mast, 
The  third  alone  with  a  loaded  gun, 

The  fourth  with  a  plummet  cast  — 

While  the  fifth  stands  at  the  winding  wheel 

To  guide  the  ship  aright, 
As  she  drives  in,  the  Ship  of  Sin, 

In  the  everlasting  night ! 

To  see  —  and  to  hear  above  the  roar 

Of  the  midnight  hell-blown  blast  — 

And  the  flap  of  the  sail  in  the  angry  gale 
Against  the  quivering  mast  — 


13(j  THE   SPECTRE    SHIP. 


And  the  ho  !  heave-O  I  and  the  hearty  heave-O  * 
Of  the  crew  in  their  devilish  mirth, 

When  the  anchor  is  east  and  the  ship  made  fast 
In  the  port  of  her  clearance  on  earth  — 

To  hear  the  five  hundred  .slaves  shriek  out,  ' 

As  never  slaves  shrieked  before, 
Above  the  din  of  the  Ship  of  Sin 

And  the  midnight  hell-blast's  roar  I 

Christ  Jesu  !   as  if  they  shrieked  with  the  lungs 
Of  the  thousands  of  slaves  untold, 

Flayed  from  black  to  white,  at  work  at  midnight. 
In  the  sinful  service  of  gold  ! 

Flayed  from  black  to  white,  at  work  at  midnight, 

In  the  golden  service,  of  sin, 
To  make  the  sail  to  catch  the  gale 

To  drive  the  ghost  ship  in  — 

In  —  into  the  clearance  port  of  birth, 

The  Port  of  Pitt,  God  wot, 
The  source  of  the  flood  of  the  River  of  Blood 

Where  the  caul  with  the  keel  is  inwrought  ! 


"  When  a  child  is  born  with  the  membranes  over 
the  face,  it  is  said  lobe  '  born  with  a  caul.'  In  the  cata 
logue  of  superstitions,  this  is  one  of  the  favorable 
omens.  The  caul  itself  is  supposed  to  confer  privileges 
upon  the  possessor;  hence  the  membranes  are  dried, 
and  sometimes  sold  for  a  high  price."—  Dunglison.  The 
usual  privilege  conferred  is  immunity  from  drowning; 
hence  the  caul  among  sailors  commands  the  highest 
price  —  several  guineas  having  been  paid  for  a  caul  that 
has  circumnavigated  the  globe. 

f  This  incident  has  been  made  known  generally 
through  Henry  Clay,  who,  in  a  speech  delivered  in  Con 
gress,  said:  "To  illustrate  the  commercial  habits  and 
enterprise  of  the  American  people,  (he  said)  he  would 
relate  an  anecdote  of  a  vessel,  built  and  cleared  at 
Pittsburgh  for  Leghorn.  When  she  arrived  at  her  place 
of  destination,  the  master  presented  his  papers  to  the 
custom-house  officer  —  who  could  not  credit  him,  and 
said  to  him, 'Sir,  your  papers  are  forged;  there  is  no 
such  port  us  Pittsburgh  in  the  world:  your  vessel  must 


PRINCE    GALLITZIN.  137 


be  confiscated.'  The  trembling  captain  laid  before  the 
officer  the  map  of  the  United  States,  directed  him  to  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico,  pointed  out  the  mouth  of  the  Missis 
sippi,  led  him  a  thousand  miles  up  it  to  the  mouth  of 
the  Ohio,  and  thence  another  thousand  up  it  to  Pitts 
burgh  :  *  There,  sir.  is  the  port  from  whence  my  vessel 
cleared.'  The  astonished  officer,  before  he  had  seen 
the  map.  would  ns  readily  h  tve  believed  this  vessel  had 
been  navigated  from  the  moon.'' 


—  1799  — 

PRINCE  GALLITZIN. 


"Gallitzin  began  his  mission  in  1799,  with,  perhaps, 
a  dozen  men  of  his  faith  scattered  about  through  the 
mountain,  and  no  other  sanctuary,  save  the  little  ora 
tory  of  Father  Flaget,  in  all  the  West,  than  the  one  of 
logs  thirty  feet  long,  which  he  himself  had  reared.  He 
lived  to  see  the  village  of  Loretto,  [in  Cambria  county,] 
which  he  had  founded,  grow  into  a  populous  and  flour 
ishing  town;  to  find  the  Faith,  whose  standard  he  had 
been  the  first  to  restore  since  its  going  down  amid  the 
ruins  of  Fort  Duquesne,  established  upon  a  footing  from 
\vhichnorevolutionoftimeorcircumstance  was  ever 
afterwards  to  displace  it;  to  witness  new  chapels  spring 
up,  one  by  one,  till  every  hamlet  almost,  dotting  the 
lowlands  down  upon  which  he  looked,  had  its  spire;  to 
behold  his  mission  prevail,  until  the  apostolic  number 
of  his  original  followers  had  increased  and  multiplied  a 
thousandfold;  till  hospitals  and  houses  of  industry,  by 
the  liberal  charities  of  his  people,  were  erected  ;  and  till 
boarding-schools,  free-schools,  orphan  asylums,  and  the 
ological  college-  were  institutions  common  throughout 
the  land,  as  were  the  necessities  which  called  them  into 
existence.  He  died  at  Loretto  in  1840."—  NEVIN. 


Since  men  are  the  expressions  growth-inwrought 

Of  their  environment,  it  follows  that 

In  looking,  with  the  eye  of  contemplation, 

At  men  as  representatives  of  places, 

The  circumstances  of  their  lives  and  actions 

Are  seen  within  the  mirror  of  themselves  : 

Tis  not  the  eye  that  sees  but  the  idea. 

l^ehold  the  Little  World  a  wilderness ; 
And,  on  the  Alleghany  mountain's  crest, 


L    BRADY. 


His  back   turned  to  the  flesh-pots  of  the  East  — 
His  soul  forever  severed  from  his  seed  — 
A  prince  in  prayer  kneels  before  the  Cross  ! 

The  light  of  his  lone  taper  has  dispelled 

The  gloom  and  terror  of  the  hemlock's  shade  ; 

The  tinkling  of  his  matin-bell  is  heard 

Instead  of  the  dread  rattle  of  the  snake 

With  fang-envenomed  jaw  thrown  back  to  strike  ; 

The  perfume  of  his  censer  has  displaced 

The  baneful  foetnr  of  the  climbing  rhns  ; 

A  soft  and  mellow  light  is  everywhere 

Diffused  upon  the  painted  leaves  of  autumn  ; 

And  the  warm  breath  of  balm  within  the  wind 

Is  the  sweet  spirit  of  the  Holy  Man 

Commingling  sanctity  with  solitude. 

The  Mother  with  her  Boy-Babe  in  her  arms 
Appears  with  the  uprising  sun  in  thr  East  — 
The  light  of  Life  Eternal  in  the  dawn  ! 
The  while,  the  Manito,  his  children's  scalps 
Within  his  bloody  hands,  sinks  in  the  West, 
Tnto  the  night  of  death  that  knows  no  dawn  ! 

The  symbol  of  the  cross,  mark  on  thee,  Man, 
And  in  thee,  Soul,  and  join  with  him  in  prayer  ; 
Where  kneels  the  potentate  of  earth,  the  prince, 
The  peasant  may,  to  rise  with  him,  mayhap, 
Into  the  azure  of  the  Alle^hanies, 
Illumined  in  the  Light  of  Life  Eternal ! 


-  1779-1800  — 

SAMUEL  BRADY. 


"  Capt.  Samuel  Brady  was  born  in  Shippensburg,  in 
Cumberland  county,  in  1758,  but  soon  after  removed 
with  his  father  to  the  West  Branch  of  theSusquehannat 


•GEOR-GE    RAPT*.  19 

a.  few  miles  above  Northumberland.  Cradled  amid  th-e 
•alarms  and  excitements  of  a  frontier  exposed  to  savage 
warfare,  Brady's  military  propensities  were  very  early 
developed.  He  eagerly  sought  a  post  in  the  Revolution 
ary  army  ;  was  at  the  siege  of  Boston ;  a  lieutenant  at 
the  massacre  of  the  Paoli ;  and  in  1779  was  ordered  to 
Fort  Pitt  with  the  regiment  under  Gen.  Broadhead.  A 
short  time  previous  to  this,  both  his  father  and  brother 
had  fallen  by  the  hands  of  Indians;  and  from  that  mo 
ment  Brady  took  a  solemn  oath  of  vengeance  against 
all  Indians.  And  his  future  life  was  devoted  to  the  ful 
filment  of  his  vow.  While  Gen.  Broadhead  held  com 
mand  at  Fort  Pitt,  ( 1780-81,;  Brady  was  often  selected  to 
command  small  scouting  parties  sent  into  the  Indian, 
country  north  and  west  of  the  lort,  to  watch 
the  movements  of  the  savages;  a  charge  which 
Brady  always  fulfilled  with  his  characteristic 
courage  and  sagacity." —  I>AY. 


The  scetfe  shifts  with  the  actor  on  the  stage  — 
An  Indian  summer  comes   with  paint  bedaubtd  ; 
The  sky's  aflame ;  the  rivers  run  with  blood  : 
The  Pale-face  and  the  .Red-skin,  side  by  side, 
Are  indistinguishable  savages; 
The  speeding  tomahawk  gleams  in  the  eye  ; 
The  death-whoop  rings  and  echoes  in  the  ear; 
The  butchery  of  babes  is  in  the  heart ! 


—  18U5  — 

GEORGE  RAP  P. 


For  particulars,  the  reader  is  referred  to  the  little 
book  printed  in  Pittsburgh,  in  1806,  entitled,  "  The  Har 
mony  Society,  at  Economy,  Penn'a.  Founded  by 
George  Rapp,  A.  D.  1805.  With  an  Appendix. 
By  Aaron  Williams,  D.  D." 


Again  the  land's  a  land  of  peace  and  plenty : 
The  larva  of  the  moth  weaves  in  her  loom 


140      SAM  MEASON,  THE  ROBBER. 


The  silken  band  of  love  and  wedding  gown  : 

The  teasel  pricks  the  woolen  cloth  of  warmth 

Unto  the  old  and  needy  in  the  wind  ; 

The  purple  srape  sinks  bursting  in  the  vat  ; 

To  flow  erelong  into  the  veins  of  age 

A  recollection  of  the  joys  of  youth  ; 

The  opposite^  of  human  kind  and  spheres 

Meet  and  commingle  in  the  shop  in  peace. 

With  sharpened  swords  and  stiel  blades  in   their 

liands  ; 

Economy  and  Harmony  are  heard 
Upon  the  earth  as  the  abodes  of  men  ! 


—  1790-1810  — 

ME  A  SOX,   THE  ROBBER. 


Samuel  Meason,  one  of  the  most  noted  highwaymen 
of  America,  was  a  native  of  Fayette  county,  Pennsylva 
nia.  His  depredations  extended  from  the  head  of  tiie 
Ohio  to  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  last  and  the  beginning  of  the  present  cen 
tury.  A  large  reward  having  been  offered  for  his  head, 
he  was  slain  by  two  men,  who,  when  they  tendered  the 
head  and  claimed  the  reward,  were  recognized  as  high 
waymen  who  had  belonged  to  Meason 's  gang,  and  re 
ceived  their  desserts  on  the  gallows. 


The  country  is  accursed  and  foul  with  blood  ; 
The  heath  is  haunted  by  the  highwayman  : 
The  rock's  a  robber  to  the  traveler ; 
The  cave  conceals  the  captive  and  her  shame  ; 
The  moan  of  murder's  on  the  mountain  height 
The  voice  in  vain  for  help  is  in  the  vale  ; 
The  ripple  in  the  river  for  a  moment  —  see  ! 
Reveals,  before  it  sinks,  the  blo-ited  corpse  ; 
The  air  is  stifling  and  the  heart  is  hushed  ; 
The  eyeballs  start  within  their  sockets,  as 
They  glare  into  the  bloodshot  eyes  of  Crime  ! 


THE    HOARY    OLD    HERO   OF    HELL.         141 


—  1810  - 

THE  HOARY  OLD   HERO    OF  HELL. 


The  scene  of  the  terrible  tragedy  of  Polly  Williams, 
•enacted  in  the  early  part  of  the  summer  of  1810,  is  at  a 
place  called  the  White  Rocks  —  a  cliff  near  the  crest  of 
the  Chestnut  Ridge,  (  or  Laurel  Hill,  as  the  mountain  is 
called  erroneously  south  of  the  Youghiogheny,)  about 
six  miles  south-east  of  Uniontown,  the  capital  of  Fu- 
yette  county.  And,  estimated  by  the  impression  the 
event  has  left  upon  the  people  in  the  several  counties  of 
Fayette,  Westmoreland  and  Greene,  no  local  occur 
rence,  in  the  annals  of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  is 
of  as  great  importance  and  entitled  to  more  considera 
tion  by  the  philosopher  and  poet,  as  the  story  of  this 
woman  and  her  betrayer  and  murderer,  Philip  Rogers  ; 
possibly  because,  with  the  eye  of  a  poet  the  people  un 
consciously  have  seen  in  Polly  Williams  and  Philip 
Rogers  the  opposite  and  supplemental  halves  of  man 
kind,  and  in  the  murder  of  a  mother  with  child  by  a 
father  the  most  horrible  of  crimes,  indicating,  in  the 
most  glaring  light  to  the  understanding  of  all,  the  anni 
hilation  of  humanity.  In  the  Appendix  the  reader  will 
find  several  poems  on  the  hubject  —  one  by  my  lament 
ed  friend,  Mr.  A.  F.  Hill,  who,  in  the  exuberance  of  his 
youthful  fancy  has  amplified  the  story  into  an  enter 
taining  novel,  entitled  "  The  White  Rocks,  or  the  Rob 
bers'  Den  —  a  Tragedy  of  the  Mountains." 


The  night  was  dark,  but  the  camp-fire  shone, 
With  a  ruddy,  flickering  light, 

On  the  mountain's  crown  of  ragged  stone  — 
That  merry  November  night. 

When  the  cup  went  round  with  a  song  or  jest 

Among  the  merry  three, 
Till  the  midnight  came  like  a  bat  of  flame 

Flitting  hither  and  thither  in  glee. 

The  youngest  was  a  beardless  boy, 

With  a  dimple  in  his  chin, 
A  maiden's  mouth  in  the  triumph  of  truth, 

And  a  soul  untouched  by  bin. 


142    THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL. 

The  second  was  a  man  in  years, 

And  acquaintance  with  the  world, 

With  an  eye  ringed  with  red  in  a  heavy  head. 
And  a  white  lip  slightly  curled. 

While  the  third  was  grizzled  at  thirty  and   three, 
His  visage  scored  and  crossed  — 

As  if  when  a  boy  he  had  gambled  for  joy, 
And  staked  his  manhood,  and  lust  ! 

'*  Yea,  give  us  a  toast,  my  beardless  boy  !  ' 

The  grizzled  gambler  said  ; 
While  the  man  in  years,  aglow  in  tears, 

Nudged  his  feet  and  nodded  his  head. 

"  I  drink  to  the  maiden  of  womanly  worth. 

With  her  heart  in  an  open  eye, 
Whom  sinless  to  keep,  as  a  babe  asleep, 

I  willingly  would  die !  " 

"  Well  said,  my  boy  ;  but  hear  us  all," 

The  grizzled  gambler  said, 
"  Before  we  drain  our  cups  again, 

And  betake  ourselves  to  bed." 

"  I  drink  to  the  wife  who  takes  this  life, 
As  she  takes  the  wind  and  weather, 

And  who  says,  'We'll  share  the  foul  and  fair  — 
We'll  live  and  die  together.'  " 

"  Well  said,  my  maudlin  half  and  half," 

The  grizzled  gambler  said  ; 
44  But  before  I  quaff  to  a  cry  and  a  laugh, 

I'll  drink  to  the  living  dead  ! 

"  I  drink  to  the  mother,  above  any  other, 

Who  has  yielded  to  my  will, 
And  who  loves  —  to  die!  fondly  swearing  that  I 

Am  kindest  when  I  kill !  " 

The  gambler  said,  with  a  toss  of  his  head. 
And  a  flash  from  his  coal  black  eye, — 

When  a  sudden  sound,  that  came  from  the  ground, 
Upheld  his  glass  on  high. 


THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL.    143 


"  Well  said,  thou  youth,  with  thy  maiden's  mouth  ; 

Well  said,  thou  half  and  half; 
Well  said,  thou  son  oi  the  Evil  One  ; 

But  hear  me  ere  ye  quaff !  " 

The  earth  spake  with  an  old  man's  voice, 

Betwixt  a  gasp  and  a  groan  ; 
When  a  sudden  blast  of  the  wind  swept  past 

And  chilled  the  boy  to  the  bone ! 

When  a  sudden  blast  of  the  wind  swept  past, 

And  made  the  camp-fire  glare  ; 
Till  another  gust  swept  the  fiery  dust 

Into  ashes  in  the  air  ! 

And  all  was  the  gloom  of  the  silent  tomb 
On  the  mountain,  that  merry  midnight ; 

When  a  crack  in  the  crown  of  ragged  stone 
Revealed  a  ghastly  light! 

And  lo  !  there  appeared  the  long  white  beard 

Of  an  old,  old  man  clinging  fast 
To  rhe  very  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge 

Whence  Polly  Williams  was  cast ! 

The  beardless  boy,  though  he  shuddered  with  fright, 

Sprang  to  his  feet  to  save  — 
"  But  touch  that  ghost,  and  thou  art  lost ! 

That  brink  is  of  the  grave  !  " 

The  maudlin  man  said,  as  over  his  head 
The  boy  turned  his  cup,  and  fell ; 

While  the  grizzled  man  laughed  as  his  liquor  he  quaffed 
u  To  the  Hoary  old  Hero  of  Hell  1 " 

And  again  filled  his  cup ;  when  the  boy  stood  up 
Aghast,  in  horror  and  wonder, — 

Like  a  statue,  in  form,  in  the  midst  of  a  storm 
Of  lightning  and  of  thunder! 

•w  Have  courage,  my  boy,  and  fill  again, 
In  despite  of  this  damned  ghost ; 

For  since  we  have  burst  into  being  accursed, 
Let  us  live  among  the  lost !  " 


144    THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL, 


The  grizzled  man  said,  with  a  toss  of  his  head, 
And  a  flash  from  his  coal-black  eye; 

But  the  b(*'.  kneeling  down,  crushed  his  cup'on  the  stone, 
And  begfto  to  pray  and  to  cry  I 

When  In  !   the  old,  old  man,  with  the  bound 
Of  a  youth  overflowing  with  joy, 

Sprang  away  from  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, 
And  sate  down  by  the  boy, — 

And  spake  to  him,  with  a  strengthened  voice, 
But  with  many  a  gasp  and  groan  ; 

While  the  maudlin  man  wept  as  he  smiling  slept, 
Arid  the  grizzled  man  draak  alone. 

••  Now,  Christ  thee  save,  thou  weeping  boy, 

Now,  Christ  thee  save  and  see  ; 
For  thou  hast  given,  thro'  the   mercy  of  Heaven, 

A  moment  of  rest  to  me  ! 

"A  moment  of  rest  to  the  living  dead, 

Doomed,  as  I  lived  to  damn  ! 
The  Hero  of  Hell,  it  is  said  and  well, 

For  I  Philip  Rogers  am  ! 

'-  Doomed  to  hang  on  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, 

Until  the  end  of  time, 
And  know  no  rest,  save  when  I  attest 

To  youth,  the  course  of  crime. 

•'Ah,  God  !  how  many,  many  years 

In  agony  have  I  hung 
To  the  ragged  ed^e  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, 

Where  Polly  Williams  clung  ! 

••  And  felt  that  wretched  woman's  woe 
And  the  pang  of  her  mother  pain, 

Till  the  crushing  stone  has  broken  the  bone 
And  benumbed  the  dizzy  brain  ! 

••  And  over  and  over  and  over  again, 

With  every  hurried  breath  — 
With  every  thought  in  a  phrenzied  brain  wrought, 

I  have  died  her  awful  death  ! 


THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL.    145 


"With  never  a  respite  till  I  spake 

Unto  thy  toast,  0  youth, 
And  withheld  the  brim  of  the  cup  of  crime 

From  thy  merry  maiden's  mouth  ! 

"  Yea,  Christ  thee  save  from  my  living  grave, 

For  thy  timely,  timely  toast ; 
For  thou,  O  youth,  with  thy  maiden's  mouth. 

Hast  eased  a  damned  ghost ! 

tl  And  in  this  moment  of  rest  from  woe, 
The  course  of  my  life,  to  scan  — 

List,  while  I  tell  what  hath  befell 
At  least  one  sinful  man. 

:'  My  father  died  to  leave  me  a  babe 

With  a  fondling  mother  alone, 
When  to  woe  I  grew  fast  with  the  wealth  he'd  amassed, 

As  will  as  a  widow's  son. 

u- 1  knew  no  wish  ungratified, 

Nor  appetite  unappeased  ; 
I  kicked  and  I  cried  and  resistance  defied  — 

I'd  do,  and  did,  as  I  pleased  ! 

••I  never  knew  how  fast  I  grew, 

Till  I  held  as  idle  toys 
My  father's  tomb  and  my  mother's  womb, 

When  I  was  shunned  by  the  boys. 

"But  what  cared  I  for  company, 

In  my  selfishness  accursed  ! 
I  was  only  too  glad  to  go  from  bad 

To  worse,  and  then  to  worst ! 

"  The  pleasures  of  boyhood  did  but  cloy, 

In  my  self-sated  mouth, 
When  into  the  wood  in  solitude, 

I  wandered  a  yearning  youth. 

••I  was  possessed  with  a  fierce  unrest, 
Which  selfishness  could  not  still ; 

When  I  stole  to  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge. 
Myself  in  despair  to  kill ! 


7 46   THE  HOAKY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL, 


"When  lo !  as  I  stood,  in  this  murderous  mood? 

Betwixt  despair  and  death  — 
On  the  ragged  edge  of  the  rocky  ledge, — 

My  shadow  fell  beneath  ! 

"And  athwart  the  face  of  a  mountain  maid, 

In  search  of  the  raw-red  root, 
To  bring  relief  to  a  mother's  grief 

With  the  breath  of  death  in  her  throat. 

"'When,  looking  up,  the  maid  espied 

Me  in  my  murderous  mood  ; 
And  shrieking  outright  in  dismay  and  affright. 

She  fled  into  the  wood. 

"  Aback  I  crept  from  the  dizzy  edge, 

And  adown  the  fearful  height, 
When  I  pursued  the  maid  through  the  wood, 

Till  I  clutched  her  in  her  flight. 

"  I  knew  not  why  I  followed  her, 

Nor  what  a  maid  might  be  — 
Unless  it  was  no  other  cause 

Than  that  she  fled  from  me. 

"Ah,  God  !  how  often  Man,  as  I, 

Betwixt  despair  and  death, 
Stands  on  the  edge  of  a  rocky  ledge, 

Till  his  shadow  falls  beneath  — 

•:  And  athwart  the  face  of  the  maiden   of  chance, 

As  it  hath  me  befell, 
From  that  hour  to  doom  his  life  to  the  tomb  — 

And  his  soul  to  heaven  or  hell  ! 

'•  For  till  that  hour,  I  caught  the  maid 

And  held  her  in  my  arms, 
I  never  knew  that  my  yearning  grew 

To  feed  on  a  woman's  charms ! 

"  I  never  knew  there  was  beauty  on  earth, 
Till  I  looked  in  the  face  of  the  girl  — 

In  her  blue  eye  a  tear,  starting,  trembling  in  fear, 
Then  running  to  hide  in  a  curl ! 


THE   HOARY    OLD    HERO   OF   HELL. 


"A  curl  that  grew  like  a  golden  vine, 

In  an  alabaster  vase, 
That  daintily  made  of  the  sunshine  a  shade 

That  half  concealed  her  face. 

"  I  never  knew  that  I  had  a  heart, 

But  only  a  selfish  will, 
Till,  against  my  breast,  the  maiden  I  pressed, 

And  felt  in  it  throbbing,  a  thrill ! 


•en 


uAnd  how  or  when,  is  beyond  my  ken, — 

But  on  her  warm,  white  neck, 
By  chance  I  espied  what  her  curls  could  not  hide  — - 

A  dainty  coal-black  speck. 

*•  When,  with  burning  bliss,  I  imprinted  a  kiss 

Upon  the  quivering  spot ; 
While  still  and  clear  rose  her  shriek  in  fear, 

Which  I  in  my  rapture  heard  not  — 

"Till  I  felt  a  hand  on  my  shoulder  laid  — 

Like  a  falling,  trembling  leaf; 
When  **  arms  becam*  numb  and  my  tongue  and  lips  dumb, 

And  I  stole  away  like  a  thief! 

*'  I  could  have  killed  both  the  mother  and  maid. 

For  resisting  my  desire  ; 
But  I  held  my  breath  when  I  felt  that  her  death 

Would  not  extinguish  my  fire ! 

"When  lo  !  I  mild  and  milder  grew, 

To  win  what  death  denied  ; 
And,  into  the  wood,  in  a  feverish  mood, 

To  woo  the  maiden,  I  hied. 

"1  sought  the  place  where  my  shadow  fell, 

And  I  dug  the  raw-red  root, 
To  bring  relief  to  her  mother's  grief 

With  the  breath  of  death  in  her  throat. 

"And  down  before  the  cabin  door 

Of  the  mother  and  the  maid, 
The  raw-red  root  with  bread  and  fruit. 

In  the  dead  of  night,  I  laid. 


148    THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL. 

"  And  again  and  again  at  the  cabin  door. 

Upon  the  mountain  side, 
I  laid  the  root  with  bread  and  fruit, 

Till  the  maiden's  mother  died. 

"When  hark  !  I  heard  a  voice  in  the  night  — 
'Come  back  !  come  back  ! '  it  said  ; 

I  entered  the  door  and  sate  before 
The  living  and  the  dead. 

"And  over  the  corpse  I  held  my  hand 

In  that  of  the  mournful  maid, 
As  I  plighted  my  troth  with  an  awful  oath, 

That  she  never  should  be  betrayed  ! 

"When  lo!  the  head  of  the  ghastly  dead 

Uprose  from  the  humble  hearse  ; 
When  the  naaiden  fell  down,  and  lay  in  a  swown, 

While  I  smote  the  corpse  with  a  curse  ! 

"And  again,  when  the  corpse  was  laid  in  the  gruvp, 
And  I  kissed  the  mournful  maid, 

I  plighted  my  troth  with  an  awful  oath, 
That  she  never  should  be  betrayed  ! 

"The  while,  I  stood,  in  a  murderous  mood, 
With  my  heel  on  the  upturned  clod. 

To  kick  the  head  of  the  ghastly  dead 
If  it  rose  above  the  sod  ! 

"  Ah,  God  !  how  swift  speed  the  moments  of  grit- f 
On  the  wings  of  expectant  bliss ! 

How  soon  cease  to  flow  the  streamlets  of  woe, 
When  sipped  at  their  source  in  a  kiss  ! 

"Scarce  a  fortnight  had  sped,  when  I  knelt  at  the  bed 
Of  the  motherless  mountain  maid, 

And  I  vowed  and  I  swore,  as  I'd  done  before1, 
That  she  never  should  be  betrayed. 

"Ah,  God  !  the  fierce  flash  in  my  phrenzied  braiu, 

And  in  my  hot  blood  the  thrill ! 
When  the  mald  ln  despair  clasped  her  hands  in  prayer, 

And  yielded  to  my  will ! 


THE   HOARY   OLD    HERO   OF    HELL.         149 


^  The  morning  came,  and  the  golden  sun 

Hose  over  the  mountaiu's  crest; 
When  my  plighted  troth  with  my  uwiul  oath 

Dissolved  with  the  morning  mist ! 

*'  The  maiden  was  mine  —  my  slave  !   my  toy ! 

To  be  caressed  or  cursed  ! 
And  again  was  I  glad  to  go  from  bad 

To  worse,  and  then  to  worst! 

"  But,  in  good  or  evil,  a  god  or  devil, 

Unto  the  mountain  maid, 
She  knelt  at  the  head  of  my  midnight  bed 

And  for  my  welfare  prayed. 

"Ah,  God  !  to  see  that  woman  of  worth 

Devote  to  me  her  life  ! 
Had  I  not  burst  into  being  accursed 

I  had  worshiped  in  her  a  Wife ! 

u  A  Wife  self  sacrificing,  fond, 

To  hallow  the  humblest  clod  ; 
And  to  lift  into  heaven  sinful  Man  forgiven, 

With  the  earthy  arms  of  God  ! 

"  But  I  had  burst  into  being  accursed, 
And  I  could  not  worship  a  wife  — 

Nor  the  heaven- blest  mother  when  enclosing  another 
She  lives  a  double  life ! 

"  For  scarcely  had  eight  months  come  and  gone, 

When  lo !  in  murderous  mood, 
I  led  the  maid-mother  through  the  shade 

Of  the  mountain's  leafy  wood. 

"The  bird  was  blithe  on  the  birch-tree  bough, 

And  mirthful  music  made  ; 
But  blither  was  I  without  melody 

Unto  the  mother-maid. 

"  '  There  dwells  a  man  of  God,'  I  began, 

'In  a  humble  hut  of  stone, 
Beyond  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, — 

Come,  he  shall  make  us  one. 


150        THE    HOARY   OLI>    HERO   OF   HELL. 


"  '  Come,  he  shall  make  us  man  and  wife,' 

I  softly  said,  and  smiled  ; 
'  And  a  heaven  of  earth  beyond  the  birth 

Of  our  love-begotten  child.' 

"The  violet  blue,  when  bathed  in  dew, 

Is  bright  in  the  morning  sun  ; 
But  brighter  her  eye,  when  she  said,  '  Till  I  die, 

God's  will  through  thine  be  done !  " 

"  She  took  my  arm,  as  we  walked  along, 
Through  the  wild  unbroken  heath  ; 

When  I  felt  how  great  was  her  double  weight. — • 
And  hot  and  short  her  breath. 

"  '  Come,  let  us  rest  a  moment,  here,' 

I  said  to  the  mountain  maid, 
'  On  the  ragged  edge  of  the  White- Rock  ledge, — 

Come,  do  not  be  afraid  — 

k'  'For  why,  God  wot,  'tis  a  hallowed  spot ; 

For  here,  thou  savedst  my  life, 
To  be  unto  me  to  eternity 

My  Savior  in  a  Wife !  ' 

"On  the  ragged  edge  of  the   White-Rock  ledge. 

We  stood  with  bated  breath  — 
She,  light  in  her  love  as  the  bright  height  above, 

I,  dark  as  the  depth  beneath  ! 

"When  lo !  from  out  of  the  darkness  came 
Unto  me,  in  my  murderous  mood, 

A  lightning  flash,  with  a  thunder  crash, 
That  burned  my  brain  and  blood  ! 

"I  seized  the  woman  by  the  neck, 

And,  with  resistless  force, 
O'er  the  ragged  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, 

I  hurled  her  with  a  curse ! 

"  But God  have  mercy  on  my  soul ! 

And  Christ  thee  save  and  see, 
My  beardless  boy,  in  thy  guileless  joy, 

For  the  rest  thou  givest  me !  — 


THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL.    151 


"  The  woman  fell ;  but  on  a  crag, 

Scarce  a  foot  or  twain  beneath 
The  ragged  edge  of  the  White-Iiock  ledgo, 

She  clung  with  the  clutch  of  Death  ! 

"I  could  have  saved  the  double  life 

That  hun£  suspended  there  ; 
For  the  wind  from  below  began  to  blow, 

And  raised  to  my  hand,  her  hair  ! 

•'The  wind  from  below  began  to  blow, 
And  raised  to  my  hand,  her  hair; 

And  in  the  breath  that  came  from  beneath, 
I  heard  the  woman's  prayer  ! 

'•  'Thy  will,  0  God,  be  done  on  earth, 

As  it  is  done  in  heaven  ! 
But  let  the  love  of  a  mother  move 

The  father  to  be  forgiven  !  ' 

;-  But  I  had  burst  into  being  accursed, 
And  closed  to  Christ  were  my  ears; 

For  what  is  addressed  to  the  Grod  of  the  blest 
The  de'il  of  the  damned  never  hears ! 

••And  again,  from  out  of  the  darkness  came 
Unto  me,  in  my  murderous  mood, 

A  lightning  flash,  with  a  thunder  crash, 
That  burned  my  brain  and  blood. 

"I  seized  a  stone,  and,  looking  down 

Into  the  upturned  eye, 
T  raised  it  above  the  look  of  love 

That  beheld  me,  e'en  then !  in  the  sky  ! 

il  And,  I  held  it  above  the  look  of  love, — 
Till,  down  went  the  ragged  stone 

With  a  hurried  rush  of  the  air,  and  a  crush 
Of  living  flesh  and  bone ! 

'•And  the  rolling  head  of  a  brain  benumbed 

Hung  over  the  depth  beneath  ; 
While  fast  to  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge 

Clutched  the  rigid  fingers  of  Death ! 


I52f        THE    HOARr   OLD    HERO    OF   HELL. 


"When,  kneeling  down  on  the  ragged  stone, 

In  an  attitude  of  prayer,. 
With  a  blasphemous  curse  that  redoubled  my  force-, 

I  kicked  the  corpse  clinging  there  !' 

u  I  heard  —  a  scraping,  tearing  sound  — 

And  then  a  distant  thud  I  — 
When  all  was  still  —  as  Death  —  until 

I  heard  my  throbbing  blood  ! 

*"  Until  I  heard  my  throbbing  blood 

Within  my  heart  and  brain  I 
With  every  beat  that  thud  repeat, 

And  the  awful  curse  of  Cain  I 

-  Upon  my  belly  then  I  fell, 

And  began  like  a  snake  to  crawl ; 

Lest  over  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, 
In  my  wickedness  I  should  fall ! 

"Ah,  God  I  the  flash  in  my  fearful  brain7 

And  in  my  blood,  the  chill, 
When  I  felt  the  first  pang  of  the  worst, 

That  I  never  myself  could  kill ! 

•'  Aback  I  crawled  from  the  dizzy  edge, 
And  adown  the  fearful  height  — 

And  then  beneath  —  until  dear  Death 
Appeared  in  my  sight ! 

l-  Ah,  God  !  how  calm  and  sweet  the  look 

Of  Death  to  the  accursed  I 
I  gazed  at  the  dead  before  me  laid, 

Till  my  eye-balls  seemed  to  burst ! 

•'And  then  I  began  to  form  a  plan 

To  bury  the  dead  out  of  sight ; 
But  I  tried  in  vain  to  stand  again 

Erect  in  manhood's  might ! 

14  For  on  my  neck  the  double  weight 

Of  the  mother-maid  was  hung; 
While  my  fingers  closed  into  those  of  the  ghost 

That  to  the  cliff-edge  clung! 


THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL.    153 


"Ah,  God  !  the  dead  before  me  laid, 

I  could  not  even  touch  ; 
For  when  I  placed  my  hand  on  the  waist, 

It  shrank  away  from  my  clutch  ! 

"It  was  the  living  within  the  dead  !  — 

And  from  that  moment  for  aye, 
I  became  in  the  dead  the  living  laid, 

To  never  —  never  die ! 

"Adown  the  mountain  side  I  crept, 

And  into  the  town  in  the  vale  ; 
Where  every  man  whom  I  met  began 

To  tell  me  an  awful  tale  — 

'•Of  a  dark  deed  done  by  the  Evil  One 

In  a  fondling  father's  guise  — 
Beneath  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge 

A  murdered  mother  lies  ! 

"  But  I  never  raised  my  heavy  head, 

Nor  to  the  tale  replied, 
Till  I  cursed  the  Law  for  refusing  to  draw 

The  gibbet  noose,  when  I  lied ! 

'•  'Not  Guilty  !'  I  said,  with  a  toss  of  my  head, 
And  withdrew  my  neck  from  the  noose ; 

For,  to  speak  the  truth,  with  my  evil  mouth, 
My  tongue  I  could  not  loose. 

"  When  lo !  my  mother  appeared  in  court, 

With  my  father's  silken  purse ; 
When  the  solemn  oath  dissolved  into  froth, 

And  then  into  naught,  with  my  curse. 

"  '  Not  Guilty  ! '  returned  the  jury  suborned  ; 

While  the  judge  gave  a  knowing  look  ; 
When  I  tied  my  shoes  with  the  dangling  noose, 

And  crawled  outside  the  dock ! 

"  I  crawled  outside  the  dock  with  a  groan ! 

While  to  the  railing  I  clung, 
As  upon  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, 

The  murdered  mother  hung  1 


154    THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL* 


"  While  one  and  all  my  path  forsook 

With  a  shudder  and  a  groan  ; 
Until,  as  I'd  burst  into  being  accursed, 

With  my  mother,  I  was  alone  t 

u  Ah,  God  r  the  woe  of  the  wretched  heart, 

No  human  tongue  can  tell  ! 
When  the  mother  that  nursed  becomes  the  worst 

Embodiment  of  hell ! 

"  I  beiran  to  curse  —  when  lo  !  my  lips 

Became  as  a  statue's  dumb  -r 
Then  I  tried  to  cut  my  mother's  throat, 

When  my  limbs  grew  weak  and  numb  ! 

"  And  still  with  a  love  that  increased  with  age, 
She  pierced  my  wretched  heart !  — 

Ah,  God  !  the  curse  that  made  her  love  worse 
Than  a  barbed  and  poisoned  dart ! 

"  When,  at  length,  at  iny  side,  in  bed  she  died, 

Where  I  lay  sick  and  alone  — 
Crooked,  shriveled,  and  thin,  and  hoary  with  sin, 

Like  a  bent  and  bearded  bone ! 

"  And  there  she  lay,  while  the  summer's  sun 

Shone  like  a  glowing  coal ! 
Till,  with  every  breath,  my  mother  in  death, 

Made  a  sickening  stench  of  my  soul ! 

"  And  there  she  lay,  while  the  summer's  sun 

Upon  her  rotting  fell, 
Til!  I  lay  in  bed,  the  living  dead 

Devouring  my  mother  in  hell ! 

"  For  the  hell-hound  of  hunger  was  gnawing  within 

And  must  be  glut  with  food  ! 
And  I  was  accursed  with  a  hellish  thirst, 

Till  I  sucked  my  mother's  blood  ! 

"I  ate  her  flesh  and  I  drank  her  blood, 

Until  I  was  alone  — 
Crooked,  shriveled,  and  thin,  and  hoary  with  sin, 

Abed  with  another  bone  ! 


THE   HOARY    OLD    HERO    OF    HELL.         155 

<;When  lo  !  there  appeared  a  beauteous  luaid 

In  pity,  at  my  bed  ; 
And  she  buried  the  bone  of  my  mother  alone, 

And  lay  down  in  its  stead  ! 

"  But  pang  upon  pang  is  the  pastime  of  hell, 

One  woe  upon  another ; 
Than  that  beauteous  maid  beside  me  laid, 

I  had  rather  my  rotting  mother! 

"  For  why  ?  God  wot,  her  eye  was  blue, 

And  golden  was  her  hair  ; 
And  she  knelt  at  the  head  of  my  midnight  bed 

In  holy,  holy  prayer ! 

"  We  lived  together  as  man  and  wife, 

For  twenty  years  and  one  ; 
And  she  bore  me  seven  fair  daughters  of  Heaven, 

But  never  a  sin-sired  sou  ! 

"And  one  by  one  my  daughters  died, 

Ere  they  could  sin  or  shame  — 
All  save  the  first  of  the  seven  nursed 

In  holy  wedlock's  name  ! 

u  When,  her  hands  on  her  breast, their  mother  at  rest 
Made  an  end  of  her  holy  life  — 

Ah,  God !  to  dwell  in  the  hot-blast  of  hell 
With  an  angel  of  Heavea  to  wife  ! 

"  But  pang  upon  pang  is  the  pastime  of  hell, 

One  woe  upon  another ; 
Than  the  beauteous  first  of  the  seven  nursed, 

I  had  rather  their  angel  mother ! 

"  For  why  ?  God  wot,  her  eye  was  blue, 

And  golden  was  her  hair ; 
And  she  knelt  at  the  head  of  my  midnight  bed 

In  holy,  holy  prayer  ! 

"  When  lo !  as  she  hied  to  the  mountain  side 

To  dig  the  raw-red  root 
To  bring  relief  to  her  father's  grief 

With  the  breath  of  death  in  his  throat ! 


156   THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL. 

"On  the  trodden  ground  a  snake  she  found, 

Benumbed  with  an  early  frost ; 
When,  the  senseless  form  unto  life,  to  warm, 

She  laid  it  in  her  breast. 

'•And  when  she  stood  beside  my  bed, 
With  the  precious  raw-red  root,  — 

Christ !  Christ !  behold  !  a  serpent  of  gold 
Coiled  around  her  throbbing  throat  ! 

"  Christ !  Christ !  behold  !  a  serpent  of  gold 

Looked  into  her  upturned  eye ; 
And,  while  hissing  it  rang,  it  sank  its  fang  — 

That  before  me  my  daughter  might  die ! 

"Down  fell  the  maid  across  my  bed, 

Where  I  lay  sick  and  alone  — 
Crooked,  shriveled,  and  thin,  and  hoary  with  sin, 

Like  a  bent  and  bearded  bone ! 

"  When  the  serpent  of  gold  uncoiled  from  the  neck 

Of  my  daughter  on  the  bed 
And  began  to  twine  in  coils  about  mine, 

And  to  raise  its  awful  head  ! 

"  Till  lo !  it  looked  into  my  eye, 

While,  with  hissing  loud  it  rang, 

And,  to  kill  in  vain,  again  and  again, 
It  darted  its  deadly  fang ! 

"  While  my  daughter's  corse,  across  me  laid. 

In  the  winter's  breath  of  frost, 
Congealed  into  another  woe  — 

A  ghastly,  icy  ghost ! 

"And  on  my  breast  lay  the  icy  ghost, 

In  its  hand  the  raw-red  root, 
Till  my  blood  ran  as  cold  as  the  golden  fold 

Of  the  snake  around  my  throat ! 

"  And  on  my  breast  lay  the  icy  ghost, 
Till  my  beard  froze  over  my  mouth, 

When  I  was  accursed  with  a  burning  thirst 
In  a  hell  of  eternal  drouth ! 


THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL.    157 


•"  But  pang  upon  pang  is  the  pastime  of  hell, 

One  woe  upon  another  — 
I  had  but  felt  that  my  beard  would  not  melt, 

When  I  began  to  smother ! 

*'  To  smother,  God  wot !  while  I  lay  in  the  bed, 
With  the  ghost  and  the  serpent,  alone  — 

Crooked,  shriveled,  and  thin,  and  hoary  with  sin, 
Like  a  bent  and  bearded  bone  ! 

"  When  lo !  a  blast  of  the  wind  swept  past, 

And  carried  me  through  the  air, 
To  the  ragged  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, 

And  left  me  clinging  there  1 

"  And  left  me  clinging  there  —  and  for  aye  ! 

Doomed,  as  I  lived  to  damn  ! 
For  I  had  burst  into  being  accursed  — 

I  Philip  Rogers  am  ! 

"I  am  the  living  dead,  God  wot, 

Of  whom  the  people  tell, 
Whenever  a  maid  by  man  is  betrayed  — 

The  Hoary  old  Hero  of  Hell !  " 

With  a  sudden  start,  the  beardless  boy 
Sprang  up  from  the  frosty  ground, 

And  stared  aghast  —  while  the  angry  blast 
Swept  by  with  a  sullen  sound ! 

But  in  the  dim  light  of  the  dawn, 

He  saw  nor  comrades  twain, 
Nor  the  damned  ghost  of  bone  and  frost 

That  phrenzied  yet  his  brain  ! 

He  saw  but  the  spot,  where  a  fire  he  had  built 
To  protect  against  frost  and  fright, 

Beneath  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, 
Where  he  must  pass  the  night. 

Adown  the  mountain  side  he  rushed, 
And  entered  his  mother's  door  — 

"  My  son  !  my  son  !  what  deed  hast  thou  done, 
Thou'st  never  done  before ! 


158        THE    HOARY   OLI>    HERO   OF   HELL. 


"  But  jester  rn^orn.  thine  eye  was  bright, 

And  blood-red  was  thy  cheek  — 
My  son  !  my  son  !  what  deed  hast  thou  done, 

That  thou  hast  not  tongue  to  speak  !  " 

U0h,  I  have  been  coursing  the  red,  red  fox 

Upon  the  mountain  side, 
Till,  belated  I  lay  till  the  dawning  of  day,'1 

The  beardless  boy  replied. 

"Thy  hounds  I  have  kenneled  and  chained  over  night, 
And  no  ticks  in  their  hair,  I  espy  — 

My  son  !  my  son  !  what  deed  hast  thou  done. 
That  thou  hast  the  tongue  to  lie !  " 

'•Oh,  I  have  been  waiting  the  red,  red  deer, 
At  the  lick  on  the  mountain  side, 

Till  belated  I  lay  till  the  dawning  of  day," 
The  beardless  boy  replied. 

"  Thy  rifle  has  hung  on  its  pins  over  night. 

Above  my  unguarded  bed  — 
My  son  !  my  son  !  what  deed  hast  thou  done. 

That  hath  made  thee  the  living  dead  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  seen  a  damned  ghost, 

Upon  the  mountain  side, 
Beneath  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge." 

The  beardless  boy  replied. 

"If  thou  hast  seen  the  damned  ghost, 

Where  Polly  Williams  fell,— 
My  son  !  my  son  !  the  deed  thou  hast  done 

Of  the  Hoary  old  Hero  of  Hell ! 

"  Come,  come,  my  son,  and  break  thy  fast  — 
But  wherefore  dost  thou  start !  — 

Come,  come,  and  eat  of  thy  mother's  meat, 
And  drink  the  blood  of  my  heart ! 

*'  Come,  come,  my  son,  ere  upon  my  corse. 

The  sun  glows  like  a  coal, 
When  with  every  breath  thy  mother  in  death 

Will  make  a  stench  of  thy  soul !  " 


THE  HOARY  OLD  HERO  OF  HELL.    159 


The  beardless  boy,  with  a  heavy  head, 
Crept  out  of  his  mother's  sight ; 

And  lo !  by  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, 
He  has  taken  a  hurried  flight ! 

He  has  taken  a  hurried  flight,  God  wot, 

Across  the  mountain  and  moor, 
Until  he  stood  in  a  lonely  wood, 

Before  a  cabin  door, — 

Where,  hark  !  he  hears  a  voice  within 

Appealing  unto  heaven  — 
"  Oh,  may  the  love  of  a  mother  move 

The  father  to  be  forgiven  !  " 

And  he  has  taken  a  woman  in  black, 

Unto  the  kirk  of  stone, 
Where  the  holy  priest  through  the  love  of  Christ 

Has  made  them  one  flesh  and  bone. 

"  And  he  has  taken  a  woman  in  white, 

Away  from  the  kirk  of  stone, 
Till  lo!  on  the  edge  of  the  White-Rock  ledge, 

He  stands  with  his  bride  alone  ! 

And  he  has  knelt  with  his  bride  in  white, 

In  holy,  holy  prayer  ; 
And  God  has  he  blest  for  giving  him  rest 

From  clinging  in  hell  ever  there  ! 

And  down  the  mountain  side  has  he  gone, 
And  entered  his  mother's  door  — 

''  My  son  !  my  son  !  what  deed  hast  thou  done  — 
I  ne'er  saw  this  woman  before  ! " 

"Oh,  I  have  taken  this  woman  to  wife, 

Unto  the  kirk  of  stone, 
Where  the  holy  priest  through  the  love  of  Christ 

Has  made  us  one  flesh  and  bone  ! 

'•  My  son  !  my  son  !  the  deed  thou  hast  done 

Of  a  bearded  man  and  good ! 
No  more  shalt  thou  eat  of  thy  mother's  meat, 

And  drink  of  her  heart's  hot  blood  ! 


160  THE    SALT,    SALT  SEA. 

v>  Thine  eye  has  regained  its  winsome  light, 

And  red,  red  is  thy  cheek, 
While  the  tongue   of  Truth  hangs  in  thy  mouth 

The  word  of  God  to  speak. 

u  The  word  of  God  to  speak  alway, 

And  thy  tale  of  torture  to  tell, 
Whenever  a  maid  by  man  is  betrayed  — 

The  Hoary  old  Hero  of  Hell ! 

*'  That  thou  mayest  give  a  moment  of  rest 

Unto  the  living  dead  — 
He  that  sleeps  in  sin,  while  his  conscience  within, 

Makes  a  hell  for  his  soul  of  his  bed  !'r 


—  1813  — 

THE  SALT,  SALT  SEA. 


The  history  of  the  first  salt  well  in  Southwestern 
Pennsylvania  is  given  as  follows,  in  the  little  book  of 
my  worthy  friend,  Mr.  Thomas  J.  Chapman,  entitled 
"The  Valley  of  the  Conemaugh,"  and  printed 
at  Altoona,  in  1865  — 

"The  manufacture  of  salt  has  long  been  a  prosper 
ous  business  in  this  county.  These  salt-wells  are  prin 
cipally  to  be  found  along  the  banks  of  the  Conemaugh. 
The  existence  of  salt  water  in  this  section  was  indicated 
by  the  oozing  of  water,  slightly  brackish,  through  the 
fissures  of  the  rocks.  About  the  year  1813,  when  salt,  in 
consequence  of  the  war,  was  extravagantly  high,  Mr. 
William  Johnston,  an  enterprising  gentleman,  deter 
mined  to  perforate  the  rock,  and  ascertain  whether 
there  was  not  some  valuable  fountain  from  whence  all 
these  oo/ings  issued.  He  commenced  operations  on  the 
bank  of  the  Conemaugh,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Loyal- 
hanna,  and  persevered  until  he  had  reached  tne  depth 
of  450  feet,  when  he  struck  an  abundant  fountain, 
strongly  impregnated  with  salt.  He  immediately  pro 
ceeded  to  tubing  the  perforation  to  exclude  the  fresh 
water,  erecting  furnaces,  pans,  and  other  fixtures,  and 
was  soon  in  the  full  tide  of  successful  experiment,  mak 
ing  about  thirty  bushels  per  day,  all  of  which  was 
eagerly  purchased  at  a  high  price.  Mr.  Johnston's  suc 
cess  induced  others  to  embark  in  the  business,  most  of 
whom  were  successful.  Very  soon  the  hitherto  silent 


THE   SALT,   SALT   SEA.     -  161 


and  solitary  banks  of  the  river  were  all  bustle,  life,  and 
enterprise.  The  canal  which  was  afterward  made  to 
pass  through  this  region,  brought  the  most  avail 
able  means  of  transportation  to  these  works,  and 
salt  formed  one  of  the  chief  staples  of  com 
merce  of  that  section." 


A  hao;  —  a  horrible,  hideous  hag 

As  ever  haunted  the  night  ! 
As  loathesome  and  foul  as  the  graveyard  ghoul 

Pursued  by  the  lash  of  light ! 

And  yet  she  was  a  woman  of  worth, 

A  daughter  devoted  to  duty, 
A  mother  that  smiled  with  the  lips  of  her  child  — 

An  angel  of  goodness  and  beauty  ! 

Her  father  —  behold  yon  wicked  wight, 

Yon  crooked  and  cankered  man, 
That  stands  beside  the  seething  tide 

Of  the  salt,  salt  sea  in  his  pan. 

While  anon  he  feeds  the  glowing  fire, 

With  many  a  hitch  and  halt, 
As  he  toils  away  from  day  to  day 

To  sever  the  sea  from  its  salt. 

As  if  he  fed  the  fire  of  hell, 

To  sever  his  soul  from  its  sin ; 
For,  from  his  birth,  like  the  salt  in  the  earth, 

In  him  hath  wickedness  been. 

Aye,  as  if  he  were,  beside  the  pan 

Of  seething  salt  and  evil, 
The  truth  to  tell,  in  the  hold  of  hell, 

None  other  than  the  Devil. 

For  he  it  was  —  this  sinful  sire, 

That  turned  her  mouth  awry, 
And  robbed  her  face  of  ever  trace 

Of  its  humanity. 

When,  but  a  child  with  big  blue  eyes, 

She  followed  to  the  fire, 
Where  in  sport  she  ran  by  the  seething  pan, 

Provoking  a  splash  in  his  ire. 


162  THE   SALT,    SALT  SEA. 


A  splash  of  the  seething  silt,  salt  sea, 

A  splash  of  the  sea  of  sin, 
That  instantly  scarred  and  forever  marred 

Her  face  from  forehead  to  chin*  f 

Her  mother  —  behold  you  wretched  dame, 

Her  wan  cheeks  wet  with  tears, 
Blind,  deaf,  and  dumb,  and  to  feeling  numb 

Save  to  that  inwrought  in  her  fears. 

But  weep  as  she  may  from  morn  till  night, 

The  sea  will  never  be  dry, 
She  tastes  in  her  mouth  the  sins  of  her  youtb 

In  the  salt  that  conres  from  her  eye. 

For  she  it  was  —  this  woman  accursed, 
That  reddened  her  daughter's  eye, 

And  robbed  her  face  of  every  trace 
Of  its  divinity. 

When,  but  a  child,  her  daughter  played 

Upon  the  beaten  path, 
A  flaming  brand  sped  from  the  hand 

Of  this  wretched  mother  in  wrath,  — 

That  seared  her  brow  with  its  glowing  point, 
And  burned  her  eye  with  its  flame,  — 

That  instantly  scarred  and  forever  marred 
Her  face  with  her  mother's  shame. 

Aye,  a  hag  she  was  —  a  hideous  hag ! 

What  could  she  else  have  been  ? 
The  daughter  of  evil  —  begat  by  the  Devil 

Within  the  womb  of  sin  ? 

And  yet  she  was  a  woman  of  worth, 

A  daughter  devoted  to  duty, 
A  mother  that  smiled  with  the  lips  of  her  child  — 

An  angel  of  goodness  and  beauty ! 

For  her  hand  was  steady  and  patient  and  kind 

To  hold  the  spoon  to  the  mouth 
Of  her  mother  benumbed  by  palsy  and  dumbed 

By  the  salt,  salt  sins  of  her  youth. 


THE   SALT,    SALT    SEA.  163 


Aud  her  foot  was  ready  and  rapid  and  sure, 

Upon  the  puncheon  floor, 
To  go  ere  the  word  could  be  spoken  and  heard, 

On  errand  or  cabin  chore, 
t 
While  her  hand  was  full  of  cares  and  carks, 

From  morning  until  night, 
To  bake  a>nd  to  brew,  to  shape  and  to  sew, 

And  to  hide  her  face  from  the  sight  — 

Of  all  mankind  in  one  in  her  sire,  — 

Lest,  with  resistless  force, 
The  sea  of  salt  rise  with  his  fault 

Aad  wreck  him  in  remorse. 

While  her  heart  was  full  of  gratitude, 

From  evening  until  morn, 
That  she  was  blest  with  the  babe  on  her  breast  — • 

Albeit  a  bastard  born. 

Albeit  a  babe  begat  in  the  dark, 

To  a  father  that  fled  in  affright 
From  the  graveyard  ghoul  so  loathesome  and  foul, 

That  appeared  with  the  morning  light. 

For  a  Christ  she  beheld  in  her  blessed  babe, 

With  his  golden  yellow  hair, 
And  his  gleaming  eyes  of  the  morning  skies 

When  the  mornings  are  warm  and  fair ! 

A  dainty  dimple  in  his  cheek  — - 

Another  in  his  chin  — 
As  if  the  earth  had  emerged  in  his  birth 

From  the  salt,  salt  sea  of  sin ! 

As  if  her  sire  had  fed  the  fire 

Beneath  the  seething  pan, 
Until  the  sea  of  its  salt  was  free  — 

And  he  a  sinless  man. 

As  if  her  dumb,  deaf  dame  and  numb, 
Had  drained  the  salt  sea  dry,  — 

Till  her  joyful  tear  was  as  pure  and  clear 
As  the  rain-drop  in  the  sky. 


164  THE    MAID    AND    THE    MIRAGE. 

As  if  the  sins  entailed  by  birth 

Had  been  for  aye  forgiven, 
And  the  mother  smiled  with  the  lips  of  her  child, 

An  angel  of  bliss  in  heaven  ! 

The  while  she  sang  a  lullaby  —  * 

Anon  a  solemn  dirge, 
When  she  saw  two  clouds  in  the  shape  of  shrouds 

Rise  from  the  salt  sea  surge. 

And  her  father  and  mother  were  goue  and  for  aye, 

Into  the  determined  dust ; 
And  the  seething  pan  of  the  sinful  man 

Was  but  a  rim  of  rust,  — 

Where  a  little  boy  played  in  the  light  of  the  sun, 

From  morning  until  even, 
While  his  mother's  eye,  in  her  home  hard  by, 

Was  a  guardian  angel's  in  heaven. 

Aye,  a  hag  of  the  salt-works  of  old  was  she, 
And  scarred  with  the  seething  brine, 

But  who  will  not  say,  in  the  heart-seeing  day, 
That  her  face  with  her  heart  was  divine  ? 


—  1820  — 

THE  MAID  AND   THE  MIRAGE. 


The  phenomenon,  upon  which  the  story  in  the  fol 
lowing  poem  is  based,  according  to  tradition,  occurred 
in  the  year  1820  —  the  valley  of  Ligonier,  lying  between 
the  Laurel  Hill  and  the  Chestnut  Ridge,  being  lifted  so 
high  into  the  air,  that,  in  the  town  of  Mount  Pleasant, 
on  the  west  of  Chestnut  Ridge,  the  village  of  Stahlstown 
ten  miles  distant  on  the  east  of  this  mountain  range, 
could  be  seen  so  distinctly  that  houses,  barns,  roads, 
and  orchards  could  be  distinguished  by  persons  familiar 
with  the  scene.  At  a  late  period,  as  the  writer  has  been 
informed  by  a  credible  person  who  witnessed  it,  this 
curious  mirage  has  been  seen  in  the  same  place.  A  par 
allel  instance  is  recorded  by  Brocklesby  as  follows  — 

"A  most  extraordinary  instance  of  the  mirage  oc 
curred  at  Hastings,  on  the  coast  of  Sussex,  on  the  26th 
of  July,  1798.  The  cliffs  of  the  French  coast  are  fifteen 


THE    MAID    AKD    THE    MIRAGE. 


miles  distant  from  this  town,  and  in  the  usual  state  of 
the  atmosphere,  are  below  the  horizon  and  completely 
'hid  from  view;  but  on  the  day  mentioned,  at  five 
o'clock  P.  M.,  they  were  seen  extending  to  the  right  and 
left  for  several  leagues,  and  apparently  only  a  few  miles 
off.  As  the  narrator,  Mr.  Latham,  walked  along  the 
shore,  the  sailors,  who  accompanied  him,  pointed  out 
and  named  the  different  places  on  the  opposite  coast, 
which  they  were  accustomed  to  visit.  By  the  aid  of  a 
telescope,  small  vessels  were  plainly  seen  at  anchor  in 
the  French  harbors,  and  the  buildings  on  the  heights 
beyond  were  distinctly  visible. 

"The  Cape  of  Dungeness,  which  at  the  distance  of  16 
miles  from  Hastings,  extends  nearly  two  miles  into  the 
sea,  appeared  quite  close  to  the  town,  and  the  fishing 
boats,  that  were  sailing  at  the  time  between  the  two 
places,  were  magnified  to  a  high  degree.  This  curious 
phenomenon  continued  in  its  greatest  beauty  for  more 
than  three  hours.  The  day  was  extremely  hot,  with 
out  a  breath  of  wind." 


While  the  mother  slept,  the  maiden  crept 

In  silence  to  the  door, 
Her  own  mistress  to  be,  and  the  world  to  sec 

As  never  she'd  seen  before. 

With  a  hurried  breath,  she  crossed  the  heath, 

In  the  light  of  the  stars  above, 
Never  turning  her  head  while  away  she  sped, 

Till  she  came  to  a  gloomy  grove. 

Here,  feeling  her  heart  beat  as  if  it  would  break. 

She  stayed  in  her  stolen  flight, 
And  turned  in  dread  to  go  back  to  her  bed, 

When  lo  !  she  beheld  a  light ! 

She  beheld  a  light  in  her  mother's  hand, 

In  the  gloom  of  the  night  afar, 
Darting  here  and  there  to  anxious  fear  — 

Like  a  wandering  fallen  star, 

But  the  maid  in  her  musing  had  fled  far  away, 
And,  feeling  her  guilt  in  her  heart, 

She  less  feared  the  night  than  the  searching  light, 
And  made  another  start. 


166  THE    MAID    AND    THE    MIRAGE. 


On  —  through  the  gloom  of  the  leafy  grove, 
Where,  taking  the  broad  highway, 

She  pursued  her  flight  throughout  the  night 
Until  the  dawn  of  day. 

When  sitting  down  upon  a  stone 

Beside  a  babbling  brook, 
She  began  to  eat  of  the  stolen  meat 

She  had  read  of  in  the  Book. 

When,  behold !  a  woodman,  with  his  axe, 
Came,  whistling  like  the  thrush, 

That,  perched  on  the  height  of  the  tree  in  the  light. 
Cheered  his  mate  in  the  shaded  bush. 

And  he  was  as  fair  in  the  face  as  the  dawn, 

And  shapely  in  his  form  ; 
Albeit  his  beard  and  hair  appeared 

As  if  shorn  by  the  shears  of  a  storm. 

Aye,  man  and  woman  will  greet  when  they  meet, 
In  the  dawn  on  the  highway  of  life, 

When  all  is  bright  in  the  golden  light 
And  unseen  are  sin  and  strife. 

The  poll  of  the  axe  sank  deep  in  the  moss 
At  the  feet  of  the  woodman  so  fair, 

While  he  spake  of  the  sky  of  night  in  her  eye, 
And  the  raven's  wing  in  her  hair. 

While  the  maiden  sate  on  the  brink  of  the  brook, 

And  looked  at  the  rippling  glass 
That  daintily  made  in  her  vision  a  shade 

Of  more  than  he  feigned  in  her  face. 

Of  more  than  he  feigned  in  her  face  —  himself ! 

Approaching  her  with  his  speech, 
Till,  his  axe  falling  down  with  a  click  on  a  stone, 

She  trembled  within  his  reach. 

Aye,  all  and  more  than  he  feigned,  she  saw 

In  the  mirror  of  the  stream, 
Till  in  the  bliss  of  a  rapturons  kiss, 

She  closed  her  eyes  in  a  dream. 


THE   MAID    AND    THE    MIRAGE.  167 


She  closed  her  eyes  in  a  dream,  and  heard 
Only  music  that  lulled  to  a  sleep, 

In  a  lover's  arms  that  knew  no  alarms, 
Deliriously  deep  ! 

"Come,  come  with  me,  my  love  and  life, 
.From  the  light  of  the  glaring  day, 

To  the  bower  of  shade  by  the  wild-wood  made 
Beyond  the  trodden  way. 

"  Come,  come  with  me,  my  love  and  life, 

Where  none  can  ever  see  — 
Though  thy  mother's  eye  were  in  the  sky 

Above  the  greenwood  tree.  " 

The  maiden  rose  from  her  resting  stone 

Beside  the  rippling  brook. 
And,  with  feverish  blood  went  into  the  wood, 

With  never  an  upward  look. 

Until,  behold  !  a  fire-bird*  flit 

Before  her  down  cast  eyes  — 
A  bird  of  fire  rising  higher  and  higher, 

And  leading  her  looks  to  the  skies ! 

Where,  Christ  behold  !  the  maiden  saw  — 

Above  the  mountain's  crest, 
Over  which  in  the  night  she  had  taken  her  flight 

From  the  east  unto  the  west  — 

The  home  of  her  childhood  in  the  sky  ! 

As  plainly  as  sight  can  see, 
When  the  scene  is  near  and  the  sky  is  clear, 

And  the  soul  in  the  eye  seems  to  be ! 

The  home  of  her  childhood  in  the  sky  — 

The  cabin  and  the  grove, 
The  white  school-house  amid  the  green  boughs, 

And  the  church  on  the  hill  above  ! 

The  church  on  the  hill  above  the  school, 
And  the  graveyard  in  white  and  grey, 

Where,  on  a  mound  in  the  sacred  ground, 

She  had  learned  from  her  mother  to  pray  1 


168  THE    MAID    AND    THE    MIKAG1T. 

With  her  cheeks  dripping  wet  witb  tbe  salt,  salt  tears 

Of  the  soul  that  was  in  her  eye, 
The  maiden  sank  on  her  knees  to  thank 

Her  God  for  His  Hand  in  the  sky  f 

On  the  brink-edge  of  hell  the  maiden  fell, 

As  never  she  fell  before, 
And  prayed  that,  forgiven,  to  her  home  in  heaven> 

God  in  mercy  would  her  restore  f 

When,  gathering  strength  as  she  prayed  to  God7 
The  maiden  rose  from  the  ground. 

And  fiVd  in  fear  —  like  a  timid  deer 
That  hears  on  its  heels  the  hound. 

Aye,  fled  in  fear  from  the  hell  behind 
In  the  woodman rs  rapturous  arms, 

That  lulled  to  a  deep  delirious  sleep 
The  lynx  of  the  maiden's  alarms. 

While  the  woodman  stood  in  wonder  aghast 

At  the  vision  in  the  sky,  — 
Of  the  home  that  revealed  a  heaven  concealed 

To  the  soul  in  the  maidenTs  eye. 

While  the  woodman  stood  in  wonder  aghast, 
Till  the  vision  had  vanished,  as  well 

As  the  spirit  had  sped  where  the  vision  led 
To  heaven  away  from  hell. 

When,  marking  the  course  of  the  fleeing  maid 

Beyond  the  mountain's  crest, 
As  on  she  sped  without  turning  her  head 

Aback  unto  the  west  — 

He  followed  before  the  summer  was  spent, 

And  found  the  happy  land, 
Which  into  his  sight  o'er  the  mountain's  height 

God  had  lifted  in  His  right  hand. 

And  he  found  the  happy  home  of  the  maid, 

And  thrice  he  turned  to  stare, 
Ere  he  saw  in  her  eye  the  midnight  sky, 

And  the  raven's  wing  in  her  hair. 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  MIRAGE.      169 


And  thrice  she  looked  in  the  stranger's  face, 

And  at  his  shapely  form,' 
Ere  she  saw  the  beard  and  the  hair  that  appeared 

As  if  shorn  by  the  shears  of  a  storm. 

For  her  cheek  was  as  white  as  the  windflower'sf  bloom 
In  the  mist  of  the  mountain-side ; 

As  if  her  soul  had  diffused  thro'  the  whole 
Of  her  being  when  she  cried. 

While  he  was  shorn  and  shaven,  God  wot, 
As  never  was  woodman  before,  — 

While,  on  his  back  a  coat  of  black, 
As  became  a  wooer,  he  wore. 

And  ere  the  autumn  had  come  and  gone 

The  wedding  word  was  given, 
And  the  bride  and  groom  found  in  their  home 

Their  God-appointed  heaven. 

And  long  lived  they  in  happiness, 

Nor  sought  to  understand  — 
How  into  their  sight  in  broad  day-light 

God  had  lifted  up  the  land. 

Nor  why,  but  to  save  them  from  the  grave 

Of  sin,  and  sorrow,  and  death, 
To  live  a  life  as  man  and  wife 

With  an  immortal  breath. 

Nor  shall  the  poet  further  inquire  ; 

Suffice  it  unto  youth, 
That  heaven  appears  to  the  eye  in  tears 

That  turns  from  hell,  in  truth. 


*  The  scarlet  tanager,  Pyranga  rubra,  is  called  the 
fire-bird  in  Southwestern  Pennsylvania.  Its  plumage 
is  brilliantly  red. 

f  The  windflower,  Anemone  nemorosa  —  a  dainty 
iioral  gem  of  the  early  spring  familiar  to  every  rambler 
through  the  wilds  of  Old  Westmoreland,  which  is  as 
worthy  of  consideration  by  the  poet  as  the  spring- 
beauty,  the  jossakeed  of  the  Indians,  daytonia 
Virginica. 


170  THE    HEADLESS    HEART. 

— 1825  — 

THE  HEADLESS  HEART. 


The  Rattlesnake  Bond  which  furnishes  the  basis  of 
the  following  story  of  sympathy  is  a  matter  of  record) 
in  Westmoreland  county. 


It  is  a  poor  and  simple  man, 

And  he  his  cause  hath  lost, 
When,  getting  no  bail,  he  lieth  in  jail, 

For  payment  of  the  cost. 

And  he  hath  sate  the  livelong  day, 

And  eke  the  livelong  night, 
His  hard  hands  a  bed  for  his  heavy  head, 

A  wretched,  weeping  wight. 

The  while  the  rat,  with  a  jet  black  eye, 

Doth  run  from  out  its  hole, 
And  eat  the  bread  on  the  table  laid, 

And  drink  of  the  brimful  bowl. 

The  while  the  cob*  goeth  up  and  down, 
From  his  head  to  the  cell's  low  roof, 

Till  his  sunburnt  hair  and  its  strands  of  air 
Are  woven  like  warp  and  woof. 

When  lo  !  the  jailer  hath  come  to  the  door, 
And  beholds  the  wretched  man, 

And  the  spider  above  in  the  web  it  hath  wove, 
And  the  rat  at  the  brimful  can. 

And  ke  hath  run  to  fetch  his  wife, 
And  eke  his  babe,  to  the  door, 

To  see  the  sight  in  broad  day-light, 
That  never  was  seen  before  ! 

When  lo !  the  three  have  come  to  the  door, 
And  behold  the  wretched  man, 

And  the  spider  above  in  the  web  it  hath  wove, 
And  the  rat  at  the  brimful  can. 


THE  HEADLESS   HEART.  17i 

When  —  the  blessing  of  God  for  aye  be  its  dole, 

For  its  timely,  timely  shriek ! 
The  baby  hath  wrought  in  its  outcry  what 

Nor  mother  nor  father  could  speak  ! 

The  baby  hath  wrought,  without  reason  or  thought^ 

All  into  sweet  sympathy, 
Where  the  human  heart,  from  the  head  apart, 

Aye  throbbeth,  and  kooweth  not  why. 

Up  riseth  the  wretched,  weeping  man, 

With  a  sudden  start  and  fcry, 
While  the  rat  in  affright  doth  flee  out  of  sight , 

And  the  spider  goeth  on  high. 

Up  riseth  the  wretched,  weeping  man, 

But  only  to  sit  again  ; 
As  if  in  his  heart  he  feeleth  the  dart 

Of  a  sudden  and  sickening  pain. 

"  What  aileth  thee?"    quo1  the  jailer  forthwith, 

u  I  pray  thee  to  me  tell, 
"  And  thou  shalt  have  what  thou  mayest  crave, 

To  ease  thee  in  thy  cell," 

But  lo !  the  wretched,  weeping  man, 

So  haggard  and  so  wild, 
Maketh  answer  none,  but  looketh  upon 

The  jailer's  little  child. 

"Hast  thou  a  babe?"  quo'  the  jailer  anon, 

"  That  thou  dost  mine  behold  ! '' 
The  wretched  wight  replyeth  outright, 

"  A  babe  but  nine  days  old  ! " 

*'  And  its  mother  — "  quo'  the  jailer's  spouse, 
"How  fareth  it  with  thy  wife?" 

*'  Abed  she  lyeth,"  the  wretch  replyeth, 
"  And  looketh  not  like  life  ! " 

And  now,  behold,  the  jailer  hath  gone 

Unto  the  commissioners  three, 
And  what  he  hath  seen  and  heard,  I  ween, 

He  hath  told  in  sweet  sympathy. 


172  THE    HEADLESS    HEART. 

And  merry  men  all,  as  they  sit  in  the  hall, 
Behold  the  commissioners  three, 

And  when  they  have  heard, they  in 
The  prisoner  must  go  free. 

And  behold  the  clerk,  with  a  cast-iron  smirk, 
Hath  drawn  up  a  bond  with  a  seal  — 

"  Now  to  us  fetch  the  simple  wretch, 
Who  cannot  think,  but  feel." 

And  behold  the  jailer  hath  fetched  the  wretch, 
Before  the  commissioners  three, 

When  the  wily  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk, 
Doth  read  the  bond  in  glee  — 

"That  on  mid-summer's  day  at  uoon, 

The  prisoner  do  not  fail, 
To  bring  unto  the  commissioners  three,  — 

Else,  to  go  again  to  jail,  — 

"For  every  dollar  he  oweth  for  cost, 

A  foot  of  rattlesnake, 
Alive  and  sound,  as  may  be  found, 

For  consideration's  sake,  — 

"To  wit :  Full  one  and  twenty  feet, 

And  a  quarter  to  the  nail, 
With  interest,  as  the  bond  expressed, 

The  rattles  on  the  tail." 

And  why  have  the  commissioners  three 

Demanded  this  merry  pledge  ? 
The  simple  wight  is  a  Ridger  hight, 

Who  dwelleth  on  Chestnut  Ridge. 

And  behold,  the  Ridger  hath  taken  a  pen 

And  made  a  ragged  cross, 
Where  the  wily  clerk  hath  written  "  His  Mark 

When  he  the  bond  did  engross. 

A  ragged  cross  and  a  jagged  cross, 

But  the  holy  cross  withal ; 
For  on  the  spot,  with  an  inky  blot, 

A  heart-wrung  tear  doth  fall. 


THE   HEADLESS    HEART.  173 

And  behold  the  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk, 

The  merry  bond  hath  filed  ; 
And  the  simple  wight  hath  taken  his  flight 

To  be  with  his  wife  and  child. 

And  behold  !  he  hath  entered  his  cabin  door, 

And  seeth  his  babe  at  the  breast 
Of  its  mother  —  dead !  on  the  lowly  bed, 

Where  she  hath  lain  to  rest. 

With  a  shriek,  a  gasp,  a  sob,  and  a  sigh, 

The  fainting  father  doth  sink 
Across  the  dead,  on  the  lowly  bed, 

That  in  the  cabin  doth  stink. 

And  there  he  lieth  until  the  babe 

Hath  taken  in  its  mouth 
Its  father's  thumb,  and  with  hot  lip  and  gum 

Essayeth  to  slake  its  drouth. 

When  he  awaketh  from  his  swoon, 

And  the  babe  at  his  thumb  doth  espy  ; 

But  what  to  do,  he  no  more  doth  know, 
Than  why  it  doth  not  die ! 

When  lo !  a  blast  of  the  wind  hath  swept  past 

And  opened  the  cabin  door 
And  saveth  his  breath  from  the  stench  of  death 

That  sickeneth  more  and  more. 

But  what  to  do,  he  no  more  doth  know 

Than  the  baby  at  his  thumb  ; 
For  he  hath  a  heart  from  his  head  apart, 

And  in  his  dole  he  is  dumb. 

When  lo !  a  butcher  hath  driven  his  herd 

Of  cattle  near  the  door, 
And  the  savor  of  death  hath  scented  his  breath, 

As  it  never  did  before. 

And,  with  whip  in  hand,  he  hath  taken  a  stand, 

Before  the  opened  room, 
Where  shading  his  eyes,  he  with  bated  breath,  pries 

Into  the  tainted  gloom. 


174  THE   HEADLESS   HEART. 


Till  he  seeth  the  dead  on  the  lowly  bed, 
And  the  babe  at  the  horny  thumb 

Of  the  simple  wight,  in  his  wretched*  plight. 
As  the  dead  beside  him,  dumb  ! 

When  —  the  blessing  of  God  for  aye  be  its  dole, 

For  its  timely,  timely  shriek  ! 
The  baby  hath  wrought  in  its  outcry  what 

Nor  father  nor  butcher  could  speak  ! 

The  baby  hath  wrought,  without  reason  or  thought, 

All  into  sweet  sympathy, 
Where  the  human  heart  from  the  head  apart 

Aye  throbbeth,  and  knoweth  not  why  ! 

And  behold  the  butcher  hath  entered  the  room, 
And  taken  the  babe  in  his  hand, 

And  the  father  led,  from  the  bed  of  the  dead, 
Without  where  he  did  stand. 

And  he  hath  seated  the  simple  man 

Upon  a  moss-capped  stone. 
And  the  baby  placed  to  its  father's  breast, 

While  he  for  food  is  gone. 

And  he  hath  singled,  from  out  his  herd, 

A  cow,  with  a  crumpled  horn, 
To  be  a  mother  in  lieu  of  another 

To  the  babe  but  newly  born. 

And  to  a  bough,  he  hath  tied  the  cow, 

And  pressed  her  yielding  teat, 
And  dipped  a  rag,  from  his  money  bag, 

And  given  the  babe  to  eat ! 

Ah,  God !  for  the  father  and  butcher  to  see 

The  greed  of  the  starving  child ! 
Till  it  droppeth  the  rag  of  the  money  bag, 

And  hath  fallen  asleep  and  smiled ! 

The  while  it  sleeps,  the  father  weeps 

In  mingled  woe  and  joy  — 
In  woe  for  the  dead  on  the  lowly  bed, 

In  joy  for  his  living  boy. 


THE    HEADLESS    HEART.  175 


The  while  the  butcher  digs  a  grave, 

Between  two  ragged  stones, 
And  lays  the  dead  in  the  earthen  bed, 

While  the  father  sobs  and  moans. 

And  behold,  while  the  father  sobs  and  moans, 
The  butcher  hath  entered  the  door, 

And  the  crevices  shut  of  the  humble  hut, 
And  kindled  a  fire  on  the  floor. 

And  kindled  a  fire  on  the  earthen  floor, 

Of  herbs  and  hickorie, 
That  the  baby's  breath  from  the  stench  of  death, 

In  the  cabin  may  be  free. 

And  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 

Some  broken  twigs  across, 
A  bed  hath  he  made,  and  the  baby  laid 

Within  a  blanket  of  moss. 

And  he  hath  taken  the  father  out, 

Unto  the  neighboring  tree, 
And  taught  him  how  to  milk  the  cow, 

And  the  twain  a  mother  to  be. 

And  he  hath  looked  again  at  the  babe, 

And  left  it  a  kerchief  of  silk, 
To  eke  out  the  rag  of  the  money-bag, 

Till  it  drinketh  of  the  milk. 

And  he  hath  taken  his  whip  in  his  hand, 
And  gathered  together  his  herd, 

All  save  the  cow,  tied  to  the  bough, 
Which  he  leaveth  without  a  word. 

And  he  hath  gone  far,  far  away, 

Till  his  home  he  doth  espy  — 
With  the  happy  heart,  from  the  head  apart. 

That  throbbeth,  and  knoweth  not  why. 

And  he  hath  clasped  to  his  bosom  his  wife, 

Within  his  cabin  door, 
And  lengthened  his  kiss  with  increasing  bliss 

As  never  he  kissed  Before. 


176  THE    HEADLESS    HEART: 

And  he  hath  taken  his  toddling  babe, 

And  held  it  in  his  sight, 
Till,  weeping  with  joy,  he  kisseth  the  boy, 

With  a  new  found  dumb  delight ! 

And  he  hath  slain  his  herd  one  by  on>e, 

And  sold  them  in  his  stall, 
Till  his  bag  doth  not  hold  what  be  getteth  in  gold, 

Ere  he  hath  killed  them  all. 

And  he  hath  taken  the  bag  to  the  bankr 

That,  when  he  shall  be  dead, 
His  wife  and  boy  may  never  cry 

In  want  of  daily  bread. 

And  he  hath  dressed  his  wife  in  a  gowo 

Of  the  self-same  precious  silk; 
As  the  piece  he  laid  on  the  mossy  bed, 

For  the  baby  to  suck  its  milk. 

Aye,  he  hath  prospered,  beloved  by  all, 

In  sweet,  sweet  sympathy, 
Where  the  human  heart,  from  the  head  apart, 

Aye  throbbeth,  and  knoweth  not  why. 

The  while  the  wight,  the  Ridger  hight, 

Doth  press  the  yielding  teat 
Of  the  gentle  cow,  tied  to  the  bough, 

And  giveth  the  babe  to  eat. 

The  while  the  wight,  the  Ridger  hight, 

In  faith  to  keep  his  pledge, 
Both  daily  seek  the  deadly  snake 

That  Hveth  on  the  Ridge. 

He  leadeth  the  cow  with  a  cautious  hand, 
And  holdeth  the  babe  with  another ; 

But,  ah  God  !  as  he  goeth,  he  little  knoweth, 
The  ri|ks  of  its  double  mother  ! 

Until,  behold  !  he  seeth  a  snake 

Upon  his  mountain  path, 
Or,  on  the  ground,  lie  heareth  the  sound 

Of  its  rattle  of  ready  wrath. 


THE   HEADLESS    HEART.  177 

When  he  tieth  the  cow  to  a  bending  bough, 

And  holdeth  the  babe  to  his  heart, 
And,  knowing  no  fear,  he  cometh  so  near 

The  snake,  that  it  quiv'reth  to  dart ! 

When,  quick  as  the  lightning  that  daggers  the  sky, 

With  his  naked  hand  and  bare, 
He  seizeth  the  neck  of  the  deadly  snake 

And  raiseth  it  into  the  air ! 

While  the  lithe,  lank  form  of  the  flattened  snake 

Doth  writhe  around  his  arm, 
And  its  rattles  shake,  as  if  music  to  make 

For  the  baby  its  fang  cannot  harm  ! 

While  its  rattles  shake  and  music  make, 

Till  the  baby  croweth  in  joy  — 
Ah,  God !  the  heart  from  the  head  apart 

That  taketh  a  snake  for  a  toy  ! 

While  its  rattles  shake  and  music  make, 

Till  the  baby  craveth  its  rag ; 
When  the  simple  wight,  in  dumb  delight, 

Casts  the  snake  into  a  bag  — 

A  bag  which  he  binds  with  a  hickory  string,")* 

And  hangeth  about  his  neck  — 
While  boundeth  his  heart,  from  a  head  apart, 

Between  the  babe  and  the  snake ! 

And  then  he  goeth  to  the  browsing  cow, 

And  presseth  the  yielding  teat, 
And  dippeth  the  rag  of  the  money  bag, 

And  giveth  the  babe  to  eat. 

. 
But  day  after  day,  the  season  hath  sped, 

Till  mid-summer  dawns  on  the  morrow, 
When  lacking  three  feet  his  bon4  to  complete, 

The  Ridger  lieth  in  sorrow. 

The  Ridger  lieth  in  sorrow  and  dule, 

And  in  his  wretchedness  weeps, 
While,  the  twigs  across  in  its  blankets  of  moss, 

The  baby  sweetly  sleeps. 


178  THE    HEADLESS    HEART. 

The  while,  the  midnight,  musing  owl 

Re-echoeth  through  the  wood, 
And  the  gentle  cowr  beneath  the  bough r 

Is  chewing  at  hey  cud. 

When  list !  it  is  the  child  that  wakes 

In  its  bed  of  twigs  and  moss  ; 
It  craveth  the  rag  of  the  money  bagr 

And  giveth  it  tongue  in  a  toss.J 

And  behold,  from  bis  care-bed  the  father  hath  risen, 

And  pressed  the  yielding  teat 
Of  the  gentle  cow,  beneath  the  bough, 

And  giveth  the  babe  to  eat. 

And  while  he  feedeth  bis  fretful  babey 

Christ  Jesu  !  his  blood  runneth  cold  ! 

For  on  his  arm  he  feeleth  the  form 
Of  a  monstrous  serpent's  fold  I 

And  on  his  hand,  that  holdeth  the  cup 

To  the  lips  of  his  baby  boy, 
He  feeleth  the  feet  that  his  bond  will  complete, 

When  he  warmeth  again  in  joy  1 

And  on  his  fingers  that  guide  the  rag 
From  the  cup  to  the  baby's  mouth, 

Tie  feeleth  the  neck  of  the  deadly  snake 
That  slaketh  there  its  drouth  1  § 

Ah,  God !  Thy  mercy  who  doth  not  confess, 

Before  he  cometh  to  die, 
For  the  human  heart,  from  the  head  apart, 

That  throbbeth,  and  knowetb  not  why  ! 

Behold  this  wight,  in  the  dead  of  night, 

That  findeth  a  secret  joy  — 
While  he  feedeth  the  snake  of  deadly  make 

On  the  lips  "of  his  darling  boy ! 

While  from  one  and  the  self-same  cup  of  milk, 

He  feedeth  life  and  death, 
And  he  findeth  a  joy  in  the  serpent  and  boy 

Till  he  breathes  with  bated  breath ! 


"THE   HEADLESS  HEART. 


Yea,  God  !  Thy  mercy  all  must  confess, 

In  guiding  the  father's  hand, 
To  his  baby's  mouth  and  the  serpent's  tooth 

While  in  darkness  he  doth  stand  ! 

Now,  behold,  the  baby  hath  slaked  its  thirst, 

And  croweth  with  delight, 
Till  it  throweth  here  and  throweth  there, 

Its  bare  arms,  in  the  night  ! 

When,  hark  !  within  its  bed  of  moss 

The  rattle  of  the  snake 
Beginneth  to  sound  and  re-echo  around, 

Till  the  cabin  seemeth  to  shake  ! 

When  the  baby  ear-charmed  withholdeth  its  hands, 

And  sinketh  into  sleep  ! 
When  the  sound  decreaseth  —  and  finally  ceaseth, 

When  the  serpent  beginneth  to  creep. 

Till,  behold,  it  hath  crept  from  the  father's  hand, 

And  adown  his  naked  arm, 
And  coiled,  on  the  breast  of  the  baby,  to  rest 

In  sleep,  well  fed  and  warm  ! 

The  while  the  father,  in  the  dark, 

Sitteth  still  on  the  earthen  floor, 
And  straineth  his  eye  in  hope  to  descry 

The  dawn  through  the  open  door  ! 

Until,  behold,  the  eastern  ridge  ^f 

With  its  ragged  crest  of  stone 
Doth  sharply  appear,  as  if  cut  in  the  air, 

By  the  silver  shears  of  the  Dawn  ! 

Until,  behold,  the  eastern  sky 

Is  fleshed  with  a  crimson  spray, 
And  haired  wlth  the  bright,  golden  ringlets  of  light 

That  hang  on  the  brow  of  the  Day  ! 

Until,  behold,  the  eastern  vale 

Is  a  sea  of  liquid  pearl, 
With  —  Is  it  a  boat  of  diamond  afloat, 

Or  the  eye  of  a  merry  girl  ! 


180  THE    HEADLESS    HEART. 

But  seeth  not  this,  the  simple  man, 

This  bright  mid-summer's  morn, 
But  a  serpent  at  rest  on  his  baby's  breast, 

As  if  they  had  been  twin- born  ! 

And  of  all  the  serpents  of  death,  the  King,** 

With  his  crown  upon  his  tail, 
And  his  sceptre,  a  tooth,  within  his  mouth, 

To  save  a  poor  wight  from  jail ! 

To  save  a  poor  wight  from  a  jail,  with  a  cow, 
To  mother  his  motherless  child  — 

The  only  thought  of  the  Ridger,  G-od  wot, 
So  simple,  so  haggard  and  wild  ! 

When,  quick  as  the  lightning  that  daggers  the  sky, 

With  his  naked  hand  and  bare, 
He  seizeth  the  neck  of  the  deadly  snake, 

And  raiseth  it  into  the  air  1 

When  lo!  with  a  startled  cry,  the  babe 

In  terror  doth  awake  — 
Till  it  heareth  in  joy  the  sound  of  its  toy 

The  crown  of  the  regal  snake  ! 

Till  it  heareth  in  joy  the  sound  of  its  toy, 

The  crown  of  the  regal  snake, 
And  feeleth  the  clutch,  in  its  simple  sire's  touch, 

That  maketh  that  fearful  crown  shake ! 

Yea,  feeleth  that  clutch,  in  a  tender  touch 

That  holdeth  in  sympathy, 
Where  the  human  heart  from  the  head  apart, 

Aye  throbbeth,  and  knoweth  not  why  ! 

Till  lo  1  the  babe  turneth  from  its  toy, 

And  craveth  the  nourishing  rag, 
When  the  simple  wight,  in  dumb  delight, 

Casts  the  King  into  jail  —  in  his  bag ! 

But  let  us  haste,  for  ere  the  sun 

Hath  risen  to  mid  sky, 
The  Ridger  must  be  with  the  commissioners  three, 

As  the  bond  hath  said,  to  comply. 


THE   HEADLESS    HEART.  181 

And  sixteen  miles  is  a  weary  walk, 

On  a  warm  mid-summer's  morn, 
For  the  browsing  cow  at  the  wayside  bough, 

And  the  gad  on  her  crumpled  horn. 

And  sixteen  miles  is  a  weary  walk, 

Even  for  the  light  foot  of  joy, 
That  beareth  a  sack  of  snakes  on  the  back, 

And  before  a  suckling  boy. 

Aye,  and  sixteen  miles  is  a  weary  way 

Unto  the  suckling  boy, 
Although  to  beguile  the  lengthening  mile, 

He  heareth  the  sound  of  his  toy. 

But  ere  the  sun  of  the  midsummer's  day, 

Hath  risen  to  mid-sky  — 
Behold  !  what  wonder  appeareth  yonder, 

And  cometh  the  court-house  nigh  ? 

Till  the  children  bounding  from  the  school 

Have  gathered  in  the  street  — 
Where  father  and  mother  and  sister  and  brother, 

Without  knowing  each  other,  meet ! 

Where  the  human  head,  from  the  heart  apart, 

Aye  stare th,  and  feeleth  no  tie  ; 
For  father  and  mother  and  sister  and  brother, 

Are  known  not  to  the  eye ! 

And  behold,  the  throng  of  old  and  young 
Hath  come  to  the  court-house  door, 

To  stare  at  the  sight,  in  broad  day-light, 
That  never  was  seen  before  ! 

A  brindle  cow  with  a  crumpled  horn, 
And  a  Ridger,  haggard  and  wild, 

With  a  sagging  sack  of  snakes  on  his  back, 
And  before,  a  suckling  child  ! 

The  while  the  cow  is  tied  to  the  pump, 
And  the  Ridger  presseth  the  teat, 

And  dippeth  the  rag  of  the  money  bag 
And  giveth  the  babe  to  eat ! 


182  THE   HEADLESS   HEART. 

Until,  behold !  in  the  midst  of  the  throng 

Agape  at  the  wonderful  sight, 
The  babe  looketh  up  from  the  empty  cup, 

And  croweth  in  delight ! 

When  cheer  upon  cheer,  with  increasing  good  will, 

Goeth  up  unto  the  sky, 
From  the  hearts  of  the  young  and  the  old  °r  the  throng, 

In  sweet,  sweet  sympathy  ! 

The  while  the  cow  breaketh  loose  to  run. 

And  the  Ridger  standeth  aghast, 
Between  the  sack  of  snakes  on  his  back, 

And  the  babe  upon  his  breast ! 

When  lo !  the  jailer  appeareth  to  learn 
The  cause  of  the  sudden  uproar, 

And.  in  dumb  affright,  he  leadeth  the  wight, 
Within  the  court-house  door. 

And  so  into  the  commissioners  three, 

In  the  hall  where  they  merrily  sate, 

With  the  wily  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk 
Of  the  devil  that  grins  on  a  grate ! 

u  But  wit,"  quoth  the  clerk,  wlth  the  cast-iron  smirk 
u  What  wanteth  this  fool  with  his  child  ?  " 

For  he  hath  forgot,  as  a  thing  of  naught. 
The  bond  which  he  hath  filed ! 

Up  speaketh  then  the  jailer,  I  ween, 
And  calleth  the  bond  to  his  mind ; 

When  the  wily  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk. 
The  filed  bond  doth  find. 

And  readeth  he  then  the  bond  again, 

Unto  the  commissioners  three, 
While,  standing  before  the  office  door, 

The  jailer  turneth  the  key. 

"  That  on  mid-summer's  day  at  noon, 

The  prisoner  do  not  fail, 
To  bring  unto  the  commissioners  three,  — 

Or  else,  to  go  to  jail,  — 


THE    HEADLESS    HEART.  183 

"For  every  dollar  he  oweth  for  cost, 

A  fool  of  rattlesnake, 
Alive  and  sound,  as  may  be  found, 

For  consideration's  sake. 

"To  wit:  Full  one  and  twenty  feet, 

And  a  quarter  to  the  nail, 
With  interest,  as  the  bond  expressed, 

The  rattles  on  the  tail !  " 

When  behold,  the  wight,  the  Ridger  hight, 

While  none  but  the  jailer  seeth, 
Hath  unslung  the  sack  of  snakes  from  his  back 

And  opened  it  with  his  teeth. 

And  he  hath  stepped  away  from  the  wall, 

The  commissioners  three  before, 
And  alive  and  sound,  as  may  be  found, 

He  casteth  the  snakes  on  the  floor ! 

Eight  regal  snakes  with  their  sceptres  and  crowns, 
And  among  the  eight,  their  King, 

With  a  crown  of  a  score  of  rings  and  more, 
That  above  the  rest  doth  ring  ! 

When  lo  !  the  merry  commissioners  three, 
Flee  in  horror  and  shriek  in  fear ! 

While  the  jailer  stands  with  the  key  in  his  hands, 
And  feign eth  not  to  hear ! 

Till,  the  first  of  the  three,  lo  !  upon  the  desk, 

He  hath  taken  a  frothing  fit ; 
While  the  next  with  a  rule  hath  mounted  a  stool, 

And  in  tailor-fashion  doth  sit ! 

And  the  third  in  vain  to  the  jailer  kneels, 

And  prayeth  him  to  unlock ; 
While  the  wily  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk, 

Essayeth  to  climb  the  clock  ! 

The  while,  again,  the  simple  man, 

Doth  stand  in  amaze  and  affright ; 

While  his  suckling  boy,  at  the  sound  of  his  toy, 
Beginneth  to  crow  in  delight ! 


184 


THE    HEADLESS    HEART! 


Till,  Christ  behold  !  upon  the  floor, 

As  the  clock  is  striking  at  noon, 
The  wily  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk7 

Hath  fallen  in  a  swoon  ! 

Hath  fallen  in  a  sudden  swoon, 

Before  the  serpent  King, 
When  —  is  it  the  gleam  of  a  slanting  beam, 

Or  doth  the  serpent  spring  ? 

When  —  the  blessing  of  God  for  aye  be  its  dole. 

For  its  timely,  timely  shriek  I 
The  baby  hath  wrought  in  its  outcry  what 

The  bitten  clerk  cannot  speak  ! 

The  baby  hath  wrought,  without  reason  or  thought,, 

All  into  sweet  sympathy  ; 
Where  the  human  heart,  from  the  head  apart, 

Aye  throbbeth,  and  knoweth  not  why ! 

When  quick,  as  the  lightning  that  daggers  the  sky 
Goes  the  hand  of  the  Kidger  hight, 

Till  into  the  sack  he  hath  put  every  snake 
And  drawn  the  closing-string  tight. 

And  down  he  hath  knelt  beside  the  clerk, 

In  his  deathly  swooning  dumbr 
And  tied  the  rag  of  the  money  bag 

About  his  bleeding  thumb  ! 

And,  Christ,  behold  !  he  raiseth  the  thumb, 

Unto  the  baby's  mouth, 
Who  taketh  the  rag  of  the  money  bag 

To  slake  its  burning  drouth  ! 

Ah,  God  !  hath  ever  the  like  before, 

Been  seen  beneath  the  sun  ! 
Behold !  the  blood  of  the  dying,  as  food, 

Doth  into  the  living  run  !  f  f 

Aye,  the  poisoned  blood  of  the  dying,  as  food, 

Doth  into  the  living  flow 
To  nourish  the  heart  from  the  head  apart, 

That  throbbeth,  and  nothing  doth  know  ! 


THE    HEADLESS    HEART.  185 


Aye,  the  poisoned  blood  of  the  foeraan  doth  flow, 

As  freely,  as  he  is  forgiven, 
Into  the  mouth  of  the  suckling  youth, 

Like  another  Saviour  of  Heaven  ! 

The  Babe,  God  wot,  without  reason  or  thought, 
That  knoweth  nor  life  nor  death, 

While,  in  the  heart  from  the  head  apart, 
It  throbbeth  in  simple  faith  ! 

Now  behold,  the  baby  hath  slaked  its  thirst 
With  the  poisoned  blood  of  its  foe, 

And  it  droppeth  the  rag  of  the  money  bag, 
With  its  red  red  lips  to  crow  ! 

Till  cheer  upon  cheer  goeth  up  on  high, 
From  out  the  commissioners  three  ; 

When  the  wily  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk, 
Awaketh  amazed  at  their  glee ! 

Till  the  wily  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk, 

Beholdeth,  and  asketh  why, 
On  his  thumb  the  rag  of  the  money  bag, 

And  it  red  with  a  bloody  dye! 

For  well.  I  wot,  he  knoweth  not 

What  hath  happened  in  his  swoon  — 

Aye,  even  to  him  in  the  height  of  his  crime, 
When  the  clock  struck  the  hour  of  noon  1 

Aye,  even  to  him  in  the  height  of  his  crime, 
When,  but  for  his  throbbing  heart, 

His  wicked  head  among  the  dead, 
Had  been  in  hell  set  apart ! 

In  hell  had  been  set  apart,  I  ween, 

The  wrongs  of  his  life  to  recall  — 

What  he  hath  done  with  his  head  alone, 
Until  his  sinful  fall ! 

But  let  us  haste,  for  well  I  wot, 

No  man  can  tether  time  — 
No,  not  with  the  cords  which  reason  affords, 

Much  less  with  the  cobwebs  of  rhyme. 


THE    HEADLESS    HEART. 


The  jailer  hath  opened  the  oourt-house  door, 

And  hushed  the  impatient  din 
OF  the  curious  throng  of  old  and  young, 

And  told  what  hath  happened  within. 

When  cheer  upon  cheer  goeth  up  again, 

And  the  news  speedeth  through  the  towo7 

Till  behold  on  the  stool  of  the  fool  in  school 
The  teacher  sitteth  alone  ! 

The  while  the  merry  commissioners  three 

The  Ridger  hiijht  engage 
To  take  the  sack  of  snakes  on  his  back 

And  carry  it  off  to  the  Ridge. 

And  for  every  snake  which  he  hath  brought 
Unto  them,  that  mid-summer's  day, 

A  dollar  in  gold  unto  him  have  they  told 
To  take  the  same  away. 

The  while  the  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk. 
Hath  opened  his  purse  and  head, 

And  paid  for  the  rag  of  the  money  bag 
A  bogus  piece  of  lead  ! 

A  bo£us  piece  of  lead,  God  wot, 

The  value  of  his  soul, 
Which  he  putteth  about  the  baby's  throat 

With  a  string  drawn  through  a  hole  ! 

And  behold,  the  baby  hath  taken  the  lead, 
And  -sucketh  it  in  its  mouth  — 

And  a  deadlier  bane  goeth  into  its  vein 

Than  that  of  the  serpent  king's  tooth  ! 

The  ingratitude  of  man  unto 

His  Saviour  in  a  child  ! 
Till  behold,  with  its  heart  from  its  head  apart, 

It  hath  on  the  monster  smiled ! 

And  behold,  the  jailer's  wife  hath  come, 

And  many  mothers  more, 
And  they  have  dressed  the  trabe  in  the  best 

That  ever  baby  wore  — 


THE    HEADLESS    HEART.  187 


A  linen  gown  as  white  as  snow, 

And  a  change  of  fleecy  sinocks, 
With  a  silken  hood  a9  red  as  blood. 

And  a  pair  of  worsted  socks ! 

And  well,  I  ween,  had  these  mothers  seen, 
With  the  eye  of  the  heart  and  head, 

That  the  piece  about  the  baby's  throat 
Is  a  bogus  piece  of  lead  — 

They  had  taken  the  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk, 

And  slain  him  in  their  wrath  ! 
But  among  the  throng  of  old  and  young 

None  seeth  the  token  of  death  ! 

And  now  behold  !  the  Ridger  hight, 

With  victory  elate, 
Appeareth  before  the  court-house  door 

And  passeth  through  the  gate. 

The  while,  hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  with  a  will ! 

Ascendeth  to  the  sky, 
From  the  throbbing  throng  of  old  and  young 

In  sweet,  sweet  sympathy  ! 

When  hark  !  the  piercing  fife  resounds, 

And  eke  the  rattling  drum  ! 
What  new  thing  now  ?  It  is  the  cow 

That  down  the  street  doth  come  ! 

It  is  the  cow  with  the  crumpled  horn, 
That  yieldeth  the  babe  its  milk  — 

And  what  doth  deck  its  gentle  neck 
But  a  bell  on  a  ribbon  of  silk  ! 

And  while  she  conieth  down  the  street, 

And  her  head  she  tosseth  up, 
What18  that that  doth  gleam  in  the  bright  sun-beam  — 

Aye,  what  but  a  new  tin  cup  ! 

And  again  behold,  in  the  midst  of  the  throng, 

The  Ridger  presseth  the  teat, 
And  dippeth  the  silk  into  the  milk 

And  giveth  the  babe  to  eat. 


188  THE    HEADLESS    HEART. 

And  the  baby  hath  taken  the  butcher's  silk, 
And  the  white,  white  milk  doth  flow, 

Till,  looking  up  from  the  empty  cup. 
The  baby  beginneth  to  crow  ! 

When  another  hip  and  another  hurrah. 

And  another  and  a  long, 
In  sympathy  goeth  up  on  high 

From  the%  throng  of  old  and  young. 

The  while  the  jailer's  winsome  wife. 

And  many  mothers  more, 
Weep  tears,  I  wis,  of  bale  and  bliss. 

As  never  they  wept  before. 

Weep  tears,  I  wis,  of  bale  and  bliss, 

As  never  they  wept  again, 
Save  when  they  weep  while  at  night  they  sleep, 

To  forget  the  past  day  in  vain  ! 

Save  when  they  weep,  while  in  bed  they  sleep, 
And  the  Ridger  hath  sunk  to  rest, 

Beside  the  cow,  beneath  a  bough, 
With  his  baby  on  his  breast. 

With  his  baby  on  his  breast  —  but  alas ! 

Never  sweetly  to  sleep  there  again  ! 
For  into  its  blood,  ingratitude 

Hath  diffused  a  restless  bane  ! 

What  botes  it,  the  babe,  its  linen  gown, 

And  the  hood  upon  its  head, 
And  the  change  of  smocks  and  the  worsted  socks. 

While  it  sucketh  the  baleful  lead  ! 

And  what  botes  it,  the  father,  his  wealth  of  gold. 

And  his  freedom  from  the  jail, 
When  his  throbbing  heart  from  his  head  apart 

Knoweth  not  what  the  baby  doth  ail ! 

When  bale  is  hext,  then  bote  is  next, 
The  proverbf!  sayeth  in  soothe  — 

Aye,  and  when  the  text  putteth  bote  with  hext. 
And  the  bale  in  the  baby's  mouth  ! 


THE    HEADLESS    HEART.  189 


It  is  God  and  the  Devil  —  good  and  evil. 
Hand  in  hand  in  life  and  death, 

With  Man,  I  ween,  but  the  waver  between 
The  in-  and  the  out-going  breath  ! 

But  who  kuoweth  this !  Not  the  Ridger  hight, 

With  his  baby  on  his  breast, 
Beside  the  cow,  beneath  the  bough, 

Throughout  the  long  night  of  unrest. 

Nor  when  he  to  his  cabin  hath  come, 

And  sitteth  on  the  floor, 
By  the  bed  of  moss  where  the  baby  doth  toss, 

As  never  it  tossed  before. 

Till,  behold,  when  a  fortnight  hath  come  and  gone. 

And  the  babe  hath  ceased  to  fade 

An  the  rose  of  the  sun  had  silently  grown 
To  the  wax-pipe§§  of  the  shade !  — 

The  father  sitteth  in  silent  grief, 

And  holdeth  in  vain  the  silk, 
To  slake  the  drouth  of  the  baby's  mouth, 

With  tears,  as  well  as  milk ! 

Till  in  despair,  the  simple  man,  — 

This  heart  without  a  head,  — 
To  cool  it,  forsooth,  in  the  baby's  mouth, 

He  layeth  the  poisonous  lead  ! 

Until,  behold,  to  seek  the  cow 

That  hath  wandered  into  the  wood, 

The  father  hath  drawn  on  the  baby  its  gown, 
And  put  on  its  silken  hood. 

And  he  hath  taken  the  babe  in  his  arms, 

And  passed  the  cabin  door, 
And  followed  the  bell  of  the  cow,  to  the  dell, 

He  hath  never  entered  before. 

When  lo  1  he  seeth  the  cow  through  the  wood, 
And  that  further  she  wandereth  not ; 

And  he  cometh  upon  a  moss-covered  stone 
In  a  cool  and  shady  spot. 


190  THE    HEADLESS    HEART. 

And  behold,  he  layeth  his  baby  at  rest  — 
Its  heart  in  the  white  of  faith  — 

Its  head  in  the  red  of  the  blood  by  guilt  shed  - 
Ou  its  mouth  the  lead  seal  of  Death  ! 

And  behold,  the  father  upon  the  moss 

Doth  from  his  baby  creep, 
That  he  may  not  break  a  twig,  and  awake 

It  from  its  sweet,  sweet  sleep ! 

But  aye,  the  farther  the  father  doth  creep, 

From  his  sweetly  sleeping  child, 
The  farther  the  cow  seemeth  at  the  bough, 

And  the  wood  groweth  more  and  more  wild  ! 

Till,  behold,  the  father  hath  come  to  the  cow, 

And  pressed  the  yielding  teat, 
And  dippeth  the  silk  in  tears  and  milk 

To  give  to  his  baby  to  eat ! 

But  he  wandereth  here  and  he  wandereth  there. 

Through  the  wood  that  is  strange  and  wild, 
And  he  wandereth  in  vain  to  find  again 

His  sweetly  sleeping  child. 

Day  in  and  day  out,  he  wandereth  about, 

A  heart  without  a  head  ! 
But  he  wandereth  in  vain  to  find  again 

The  living  among  the  dead  ! 

Year  in  and  year  out  he  wandereth  about, 
And  seeketh  the  loved  and  the  lost, 

Till,  behold,  the  Heart  from  the  Head  apart, 
In  the  garb  of  a  grizzled  ghost ! 

A  ghost  that  haunteth  the  mountain  heath, 

And  anon,  in  the  silent  gloom, 
Bendeth  Iow  to  the  gronnd  as  if  there  he  hath   found 

The  babe  in  the  wind-flower's  bloom. 

Bendeth  low  to  the  ground,  but  in  vain,  in  vain  ! 

And  riseth  in  grief  renewed, 
Letting  fall  a  tear,  now  here  and  now  there, 

Into  every  flower  of  the  wood. 


THE    HEADLESS    HEART.  191 


A  ghost  that  haunteth  the  mountain  height 

Whom  seeth  not  the  Eye, 
But  whom  the  Heart  from  the  Head  apart, 

Aye  feeleth,  in  sympathy. 

Aye  feeleth  iu  sweet,  sweet  sympathy, 

And  in  sympathy  maketh  it  known  ; 

For  the  world  of  the  "Heart  from  the   Head  apart 
Knoweth  sympathy  alone. 

While  the  world  of  the  Head  is  the  living  dead  ; 

And  the  living  dead  is  Hell  ; 
As  the  wily  clerk,  with  the  cast-iron  smirk, 

Most  wittingly,  doubtless,  can  tell ! 


*  An  old  term  for  a  spider  still  in  common  use  in  the 
compound  word  cobweb,  that  is,  spider-web. 

t  The  withe  or  thong  of  hickory  with  which  the 
Ridger  mends  his  harness,  ties  his  shoes,  and  fastens 
with  generally  is  called  in  his  vernacular,  a  string. 

J  The  body  gives  expression  to  its  wants  and  cra 
vings  without  co-operation  with  the  brain.  The  acts  of 
the  body  requiring  cerebration  to  those  which  do  not 
are  as  one  to  ten  thousand. 

§  That  the  rattlesnake  will  feed  on  fresh  milk  is  ac 
cepted  as  a  fact  by  the  people  generally,  but  whether  or 
not  a  fact  in  fact  I  cannot  say.  But  that  this  serpent  has 
been  found  cosily  coiled  beneath  the  coverings  of  a  bed 
in  cabins  on  the  ridge,  is  a  verity  to  be  vouched  for  by 
many  residents  of  the  rocky  region  of  the  Little  World. 
Dr.  Jackson,  in  "The  Mountain,"  says  of  the  house- 
snake  of  this  region,  "It  frequents  out-houses,  and  is 
said  to  drink  milk  from  the  farmer's  pans  in  his 
spring-house." 

fi  The  Laurel  Hill. 

**  In  the  legendary  stories  of  the  mountains  of 
Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  the  rattlesnake  superior  to 
all  others  in  size,  in  venom,  in  number  of  rattles,  and  in 
number  of  subjects  in  his  den,  the  stench  of  which  is 
noxious  to  the  nostril  for  "  more  'n  forty  rod,  I  reckun," 
is  called  the  King. 

ft  The  venom  of  the  rattlesnake  is  harmless  in  the 
stomach.  A  safe  and  expedient  remedy  for  the  bite  of 
the  serpent,  accordingly,  is  suction  by  means  of  the 
mouth  —  an  adult  spitting  out  the  poisoned  blood  which 
the  baby  Is  assumed  to  have  swallowed  as  nourishment. 


THE    HEADLESS    HEART*. 


The  single  act  of  thought  in  the  Ridger  in  applying  the 
rag  of  the  money-hag  to  the  wounded  thumb  of  the 
clerk,  and  then  sticking  the  same  in  the  mouth  of  the 
babe,  is  in  accordance  with  the  knowledge  of  rattle 
snakes  which  has  been  accorded1  him  from  the  outset  — 
the  bond  of  the  commissioners,  in  point.  In  Hill's 
novel,  "The  White  Rocks,  or  the  Robbers'  Den,"  the 
witch  of  the  mountains,  Molly  Pry,  sucks  out  the  poison 
from  the  hand  of  Ned  Stan  ton,  saving  his  life  without 
injury  to  herself,  remarking —"The  p'ison  cant  hurt 
me.  There  aint  a  tooth  in  my  head,  nor  has  been  for 
ten  years.  Where  they  once  growed  is  all  healed  over 
and  covered  Avith  gums,  so  there  is  no  place  for  pTison  to 
Kit  to  my  blood,  if  I  only  spit  it  out,  an'  Molly's  got 
sense  enough  for  that."  A  quart  of  whisky,  however, 
being  the  usual  remedy,  the  number  of  snake-bites  in  a 
given  locality  to  the  number  of  snakes  is  prodigious, 
and  the  efficacy  of  the  remedy  absolute. 

£t  That  is,  when  danger,  hurt,  or  damage  is  at  its 
height,  then  is  assistance,  the  remedy,  or  the  recom 
pense  the  nearest  to  the  sufferer.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  these  good  old  words,  bote  and  bale,  and  bale  and 
bliss,  in  their  opposite  significations,  are  passing  out  of 
use.  Bote  as  boot  in  a  bargain,  and  bale  and  bane  in  the 
compounds  baleful,  baneful,  fleabane,  ratsbane,  etc.,  are 
still  familiar  words.  Hext,  the  superlative  of  high,  is 
the  analogue  of  next,  the  superlative  of  nigh.  A  famil 
iar  synonym  of  the  obsolete  proverb,  When  bale  is 
hext,  then  bote  is  next,  is  The  darkest  hour  is  just  be 
fore  the  dawn. 

$*  The  wax -pipe,  Monotropa  unifiora,  is  one  of  the 
most  notable  plants  to  be  found  in  Uie  woods  of  South 
western  Pennsylvania.  Stern,  leaf,  and  flower  are  color 
less,  semi-transparent,  like  moulded  water  and  wax.  It 
grows  only  in  the  depth  of  the  forest,  timidly  lifting  the 
e<lge  of  an  overlying  fallen  leaf  to  show  its  ghostly  sem 
blance  of  a  flower  in  the  everlasting  shade.  Other  com 
mon  names  of  this  strange  plant  are  Indian-pipe  and 
bird's-nest. 

—  1830  — 

KING  CORK  AND  JIM  CROW. 


Fiv  a  curious  freak  of  old  Dame  Chance,  the  world  is 
indebted  to  Southwestern  Pennsylvania  for  both  Negro 
Minstrelsy  and  Negro  Melody:  so  called  —  Ittcus  a  lu- 
cendo  —  because  neither  originated  with  the  negro,  nor 
has  aught  of  association  with  the  negro,  except  through 


KING    CORK    AND    JIM    CROW.  193 


the  oddest  of  happenings  in  the  ebullition  of  an  envi 
ronment  in  which  his  sable  presence  was  but  an  appre 
ciable  savor.  The  first  originated  with  Mr.  James  Crow 
a  handsome  humorist  of  Blairsville  fifty  years  ago,  and 
long  since  dead :  except  his  better  half,  a  widow,  who,  as 
late  as  the  past  winter  of  '77-8,  was  in  good  health  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Freeport,  and  his  mirth  which 
lives  like  an  immortal  in  the  memory  of  the  good  old 
men  along  the  Conemaugh  ;  the  second  coming  into  ex 
istence  as  a  school  of  song,  to  leap  from  lip  to  lip  around 
the  world,  with  Stephen  C.  Foster,  of  Allegheny  City  : 
of  whom,  more  anon. 

James  Crow  came  into  prominence  at  the  opening  of 
the  western  division  of  the  Pennsylvania  canal,  in  1880. 
He  was  one  of  the  passengers  aboard  the  "  Lady  Clark," 
( in  honor  of  the  wife  of  the  Canal  Commissioner,)  when 
for  the  first  time  in  the  annals  of  the  Little  World,  be 
tween  Blairsville  and  the  First  Tunnel  below,  the  waters 
of  the  west  were  divided  in  the  rear  of  a  tandem  mule- 
team  on  a  tow-path.  And  when  called  upon  to  contrib 
ute  to  the  amusement  of  the  party,  he  responded  in  his 
hilarity  with  a  curious  combination  of  rhythmical  non 
sense  and  fantastic  caperings,  which,  in  the  general 
good  feeling  that  prevailed,  made  a  decided  and  lasting 
impression  —  the  refrain  9f  his  song  and  dance  on  this 
memorable  occasion  being  the  familiar  — 

Turnabout;  wheel  about;  do  just  so! 

And  every  time  you  turn  about,  jump  Jim  Crow ! 

The  excursion  over,  the  happy  combination  of  the 
humorist  was  carried  far  and  wide  by  the  excursionists 
—  by  the  boatmen  being  borne  down  the  river  to  Free- 
port  and  thence  to  Pittsburgh,  where  the  second  chapter 
in  the  history  of  Negro  Minstrelsy  begins.  Here,  it  was 
the  familiar  catch  of  the  season,  it  is  to  be  supposed, 
chiefly  among  the  boys  white  and  black  about  the  boats 
at  the  terminus  of  the  canal  and  on  the  wharves  of  the 
rivers.  When  lo!  W.  D.  Bice,  a  low  comedian  of  Cin 
cinnati,  came  to  Pittsburgh  to  fill  an  engagement,  and 
caught  the  popular  sensation  of  the  place  the  moment  he 
landed  from  his  boat,  (or  he  had  heard  the  song  in  Cin 
cinnati— no  matter )  to  make  use  of  it  on  the  stage 
soon  after  with  a  success  that  established  the  descent  of 
Jim  Crow  as  a  new  school  of  comedy  forever.  But  be 
hold  the  metamorphosis :  mistaking  the  name  Jim  Crow 
for  a  personation  of  the  negro  character,  "  Daddy  "  Rice 
blackened  his  face  with  burnt  cork,  and  appeared  as  the 
counterfeit  presentment  of  the  familiar  negro  porter  of 
Griffith's  hotel :  in  clothes  borrowed  from  Cuff  himself, 
impatiently  waiting  behind  the  scenes  for  the  applau.se 


T94  KJNii  CORK    AN* I)    JIM    CROW. 


feo  cease,  etc.,  etc.,  to  a  most  ludicrous  termination,  tbs- 
details  of  which  have  been  set  forth  ful^y  by  iny  erudite' 
and  accomplished  friend,  Robert  P.  Nevin,  Esq.,  in  an. 
article  in  The  AflaatCia,*  with  never  a  word,  however,, 
about  the  barkeeper  of  M«A.n  ally's  hotel  in  Blairsville, 
Sir.  James  Crow,  the  observed  of  all  observers  on  the 
"  Lady  Clark  "  at  the  opening  of  the  old  state  eanal  — 
the  "  Old  State  Bobber,' r as  those  inimical  to  internal  im 
provements  of  a  nautical  natwe  had  only  toe* good  rea 
son  to  stigmatize  it  before  its  waters  went  into  steam  im 
(he  boilers  of  a  more  advanced  —  corruption.. 

Of  this  origin  of  Negro  Minstrelsy  in  James  Crow,  a* 
given  above  for  the  first  time  in  print,  the  writer  has  the 
fall  and  explicit  statements  of  three  credible  gentlemen 
who  were  of  the  party  on  the  memorable  voyage,  two  of 
svhom  were  acquainted  with  Crow  and  his  family  for 
many  years,  before- and  after  ttee  occurrence  described. 


Long  Hve  King  Cork,  upon  the  throne  of  mirth  I 

His  crown  a  wig  of  wool  in  fcangled  tufts ; 

His  sceptre  —  hsrk  !  the  banjo  and  the   bones  ! 

His  royal  word  a  jocular  conundrum  ; 

His  gait  a  shuffle  and  a  walk-around  -r 

His  sport  a  chicken-roost  and  poke  at  midnight  ; 

His  feast  a  eorn-cake  dipped  i<n  'possum  fat ; 

His  every  act  an  antic  of  such  humor, 

That  man  must  hold  his  aching  sides  perforce., 

Until,  within  the  ringing  of  his  laughter. 

The  echo  of  the  chains  of  slavery r 

The  falling  of  the  lash,  the  shriek  of  painr 

And  the  long  sigh  of  severed  souls  akin, 

Upon  the  earth,  may  be  forever  stilled  I 

Aye,  aye,  long  live  King  Cork,  and  be  his  sire 
Remembered  in  the  record  of  his  realm, 
The  man  of  mirth  to  ear  and  eye,  Jim  Crow  ! 
The  humorist,  on  board  the  "Lady  Clark," 
(  That  memorable  day,  this  vessel  bore 
Into  the  western  wilds,  in  pomp  and  state, 
The  Old  State  Robber  like  an  eastern  king ! ) 
Who  sang  and  danced  and  danced  and  sang  until, 
A  King  of  Comedy,  begat  his  skill ! 


K1NV,   'CO-UK    AN1>    .11 M    OIU)\V.  193 


*  The  following  is  Nfr,  Neviti's  account  of  the  hid'i- 
•crous  scene  — 

Entering  upon  duty  -at  the  "'Old  Drury"  of  the 
•"  Birmingham  of  America,"  Rice  proceeded  to  take  up 
his  opportunity..  There  was  a  negro  in  attendance  on 
Griffith's  Hotel,  in  Wood  street,  named  Cuff,  an  exqui 
site  specimen  of  his  sort,  who  won  a  precarious  subsist 
ence  by  letting  his  mouth  open  ••&¥,  a  mark  for  the  boys  to 
pitch  pen-nies  into,  at  three  paces,  and  by  carrying 
trunks  of  passengers  from  steamboats  to  the  hotels. 
Cuff  was  precisely  the  subject  for  Rice's  purpose^  slight, 
pursuaskm  induced  him  to  accompany  the  actor  to  the 
theatre,  where  he  was  led  to  The  private  entrance  and 
•quietly  ensconced  behind  the  scenes.  After  the  play,, 
Rice,  having  shaded  his  own  countenance  to  the  contra- 
'band  hue,  ordered  Cuff  to  disrobe,  and  proceeded  to  in 
vest  himself  in  the  cast  -off  apparel.  When  the  arrange 
ments  were  complete,  the  bell  rang,  and  Rice,  habited 
in  an  okl  coat,  forlornly  delapidated,  and  a  pair  of  old 
shoes,  composed  equally  of  patches  and  places  for 
patches,  on  his  feet,  and  wearing  u  coarse  straw  hat  in  a. 
melancholy  condition  of  rent  arvd  collapse,  over  a  dense 
'black  wig  of  moss,  waddled  into  view. 

The  extraordinary  apparition  produced  an  instanta 
neous  effect.  The  crash  of  peanuts  ceased  in  the  pit, 
and  through  the  circles  passed  a  murmur  and  a  bustle 
of  the  liveliest  expectation.  The  orchestra  opened  with 
a  short  prelude,  and  to  its  accompaniment  R'ice  began 
to  sing,  delivering  the  first  line  by  way  of  iutro> 
•ductory  recitative: 

"Oh,  Jim  Crow's  come  to  town  as  you  all  must  know, 
And  he  turn  about,  an'  wheel  about,  an  do  jis  so, 
And  ebery  time  he  wheel  about,  he  jump  Jim  Crow." 
The  effect  svas  electri-c.    Such  a  thunder  of  applause 
as  followed  was  never  heard  before  within  the  shell  of 
that  old  theatre.    With  each  succeeding  couplet  and  re 
frain  the  uproar  was  renewed,  until  presently,  when  the 
performer,  gathering  courage  from  the  favorable  temper 
of  his  audience,  ventured  to  improvise  matter  for  his 
distichs  from  the  familiarly-known  local  incidents,  the 
demonstration  was  deafening. 

Now  it  happened  that  Cuff,  who  meanwhile  was 
crouching  in  deshabille  under  concealment  of  a  project 
ing  flat  behind  the  performer,  by  some  means  received 
intelligence,  at  this  point,  of  the  near  approach  of  a 
steamer  to  the  Monongahela  Wharf.  Between  himself 
and  others  of  his  color  in  the  same  business  and  espec 
ially  as  regarded  a  certain  formidable  opponent  called 
Ginger,  there  existed  an  active  rivalry  ia  the  baggage 


196  KING    CORK    AND   JIM    CROW. 


carrying  business.  For  Cuff  to  allow  Ginger  the  ad  van 
tage  of  undisputed  descent  upon  the  luggage  of  the  ap 
proaching  vessel,  would  be  not  only  to  forfeit  all  "con 
siderations  "  from  the  passengers,  but,  by  proving  him 
a  laggard  in  his  calling,  to  cast  a  damaging  blemish  up 
on  his  reputation.  Liberally  as  he  might  lend  himself 
to  a  friend,  it  could  not  be  done  at  the  sacrifice.  After  a 
minute  or  two  of  fidgety  waiting  for  the  song  to  end. 
Cuff's  patience  could  endure  no  longer,  and  cautiously 
hazarding  a  glimpse  of  his  profile  beyond  the  edge  of  the 
flat,  he  called  in  a  hurried  whisper: 

44  Massa  Rice,  must  have  my  clo'es!  Massa  Griffif 
want  me  —  steamboat's  comin' !  •' 

The  appeal  was  fruitless,  for  a  happy  hit  at  an  un 
popular  city  functionary  had  set  the  audience  in  a  roar 
in  which  all  other  sounds  were  lost.  Waiting  some  mo 
ments  longer,  the  restless  Cuff,  thrusting  his  visage  from 
under  his  cover  into  full  three-quarter  view  this  time, 
again  charged  upon  the  singer  with  the  same  words,  but 
with  a  much  more  emphatic  voice: 

44  Massa  Rice,  must  have  my  clo'es !  Massa  Griffif 
want  me  —  steamboat's  comin' ! " 

A  still  more  successful  couplet  brought  a  still  more 
tempestuous  response,  and  the  invocation  of  the  bag 
gage-carrier  was  unheeded  and  unheard.  Driven  to  des 
peration,  and  forgetful  in  the  emergency  of  every  sense 
of  propriety,  Cult,  in  ludicrous  undress  as  he  was 
started  from  his  place,  rushed  upon  the  stage,  and  lay 
ing  his  hands  upon  the  performer's  shoulder,  called 
out  excitedly : 

"Massa  Rice  —  Massa  Rice!  gi'  me  nigga's  coat,  nig 
ga's  shoes  —  gi'  me  nigga's  tings,  Massa  Griffif  want  me 
—  steamboat's  comin' ! " 

The  incident  was  the  touch  that  passed  endurance. 
Pit  and  circles  were  one  scene  of  such  convulsive  merri 
ment  that  it  was  impossible  to  proceed  with  the  per 
formance,  and  the  fall  of  the  curtain  indicated  that  the 
performance  was  ended. 

Such  were  the  circumstances,  authentic  in  every  par 
ticular,  under  which  the  distinct  art  of  negro  minstrel 
sy  was  presented. 


To  feed  the  ancient  fire  of  Love, 

Required  of  vestal  maids  a  corps ; 
So  may  the  flame  as  sacred  prove 

Though  fanned  in  me  byjialf  a  score. 


THE    SPEOTRE    OF    THE    BUTTONWOOD.     197 


—  1835  — 

THE  SPECTRE  OF  Tf/K  BUTTON- 
WOOD. 


In   a   preceding    poem,    "The    Book  of    Mormon^" 
these  lines  occur  — 

Man  reads  not  what's  without,  but  what's  within. 
Not  what's  before,  but  what's  behind  his  eyeball, 
Writ  in  the  red  ink  of  his  blood  and  being; 
and  in  the  poem,  "<Q,ueen  Aliquippa"— 

For  from  the  heart,  the  growth -floods  go 
Back  to  the  brain  and  ear,  till  Io ! 
The  brain  thinks  and  the  ear  and  eye 
Perceive  naught  but  hi  phantasy; 
•and  in  the  poem,  "Prince  Gallitzin  " — 

'Tis  not  the -eye  that  sees  but  the  idea. 
"Or,  to  express  the  same  i-dea  with  the  license  of  a  poet, 
I  might  say  with  greater  force,  the  eye  is  in  the  heart, 
not  in  the  head:  to  illustrate  which,  live  following  poem, 
will  serve;  also,  when  •contrasted  with  the  story  of  the 
simple  Ridger  and  his  child,  told  in  "The  Headless 
Heart,"  to  show  the  severance  of  sympathy  the  instant 
feeling  is  evolved  into  thought:  the  differentiation  of 
•development  separating  a  father  and  son,  with  irnagin- 
tions  as  nearly  idendtiovl  as  possible,  but  with  different 
"histories,  so  for  that  the  same  object  in  the  same  light 
assumes  shapes  as  opposite  to  them  as  their  fates  in 
crossing  the  Coaemaugh,  the  feeble  old  man  wading  in 
safety,  while  the  sturdy  youth  is  drowned:  as  happened 
in  fact,  ;n  1835,  at  the  place  indicated,  or  not,  no  matter 
to  philosophy  and  poetry,  and  no  more,  I  take  it,  to  the 
tegen-dary  history  of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania. 

"On,  oo,  my  son!    While  yet  the  moon    looks 

back  — 

Stays  in  her  flight,  and,  through  the  parting  rack, 
Beholds  with  staring  eye  the  storm-king's  wrath 
Cut,  like  a  scythe  in  grass,  a  forest  swath ; 
Ere  she  pursue,  behind  the  rack  her  flight, 
We  must  across  the  Conemaugh*  to-night. 

"  On,  oo,  my  son  !  before  the  storm's  brood,  nursed 
Upon  the  mountain's  rocky  breast,  have  burst 


198     THE    SPECTRE    OF   THE    BUTTONWOOD. 


Their  swaddling  bands  ;  and,  with  the  bounding 

blood 

Of  headstrong  youth,  have  leaped  to  join  the  flood 
Of  manhood  might  in  the  Packsaddlef  trough  — 
The  wild,  resistless,  raging  Conemaugh  ! 

t;  You  stand  aghast,  my  son  !  Your  flushed  cheek? 

blanch  — 

A  poplar  J  in  your  face  upturns  a  leafy  branch  ; 
Your  hand's  a  toadstool  to  the  touch,  cold,  dank  ; 
Your  eye  is  ice,  as  lustreless  and  blank  ; 
And  fixed  on  what?    Some  dread  form  shaped, 

I  wist, 
By  fancy  in  the  moonlight  and  the  mist. 

"Yon  buttonwood, ||  below  the  ford,  in  sight, 
With  bole  and  limb  gaunt,  eldritch,  weird,  and 

white.  — 

Dost  see  in  it,  my  son,  a  spectral  form  ? 
The  image  of  the  phrensied,  threatening  storm  ? 
Or  grizzled  ghost,  with  bony  outstetched  arm. 
Foreboding,  with  prophetic  gesture,  harm  ? 
Or  forest  apparition  of  King  Lear  ?  — 
His  curse  upon  his  daughters,  dost  thou  hear 
Within  the  wind,  that,  while  he  raves  and  grieves. 
Trembles  and  rustles  in  his  crown  of  leaves  ? 
Or  is  it  Kiihleborn,  grim,  heartless,  mean, 
Pursuing  yet  the  soul-accursed  Undine  — 
His  angry  threat,  deep  in  bis  rage-choked  throat. 
Within  the  gurgle  at  the  great  tree's  root ; 
Behind  yon  bridal  veil  of  mist,  her  shriek 

TTT*  .  t     «  .1  *  1- 1_  * 1 T^Art*     ^.-m 


"  Stay,  father,  stay.  —  The  outward  form  may  pass 

From  sire  to  son  as  in  a  living  glass  — 

Head,  hand,  and  foot  —  the  brain,  the  blood  of 

fire ; 

But  never  back  again  from  son  to  sire ! 
E  am  thy  likeness,  father,  part  for  part ; 


THE    SPECTRE   OF   THE   BUTTONWOOD.     199 


I  have  thine  eye ;  but  thou  hast  not  my  heart ! 
Hadst  thou  my  history  within  thy  breast, 
Chilled  to  the  core,  as  I,  thoudst  stand  aghast ; 
Hadst  but  one  page  emblazoned  with  my  blood, 
Thoudst  wait  and  welcome  the  erasing  flood  ! 
One  scene  thoudst  see,  with  staring  eye  or  shut, 
The  rav'nous  sense  of  sight  for  aye  would  glut ; 
One  sound  thoudst  hear,  with  eager  ear  or  dull, 
That  even  dead,  would  echo  in  thy  skull : 
Thoudst  see  the  misty  moonlight's  glazed  gloom 
The  shaded  lamplight  in  the  curtained  room  ; 
The  gaunt  white  bole  and  branches  of  yon  tree 
A  woman  dying  in  her  love  for  me  — 
Her  wasted  arms  upheld  my  neck  to  clasp 
And  stiffen  in  a  wild  despairing  grasp ! 
Thoudst  hear  the  hurrying  wind  her  broken  breath 
Half  speak  farewell  and  leave  the  rest  to  Death  — 
The  gurgle  of  the  river  at  the  root, 
The  vain  attempt  of  Death  within  her  throat  ! 
Nay,  stay !  —  The  light  of  life  has  left  her  eye  1 
Stay !  —  Close  it  as  the  clouds  close  in  the  sky  ! 
Stay !  —  Wind    around    the    corpse    the    endless 

shroud 

As  wraps  about  yon  tree  the  misty  cloud  ! 
Stay  !  —  Spread  the  black  cloth  with  due  pomp 

and  form  ; 

And  ring  the  bell  to  call  the  hungry  worm  ! 
Stay,  father,  stay ;  I  grope  within  the  grave  ; 
Oh,  is't  so  dark  thou  canst  not  see  to  save  !  " 

But  in  the  ford  the  father's  ear  is  stone  — 
He  hears  nor  cry  for  help  nor  drowning  moan ; 
But  in  the  ford  the  father's  legs  are  weak, 
And  aid  of  staff  and  drooping  branches  seek 
To  save  him  from  the  rising,  swelling  tide, 
And  place  him  safely  on  the  other  side. 
Now,  on  the  bank,  he  turns  to  see  his  son, 
With  sturdy  leg  and  long,  think  it  but  fun 
To  stalk  across  the  widening,  watery  way, 
And  with  the  passing  driftwood  play. 
But,  in  the  hazy  moon's  dissolving  beam, 


200     THE    SPECTRE    OF  THE    BUTTON  WOOD1. 


He  sees  his  son  sink  in  the  swelling  stream  — 
His  arms  appearing  once  above  the  flood 
To  meet  the  Spectre  of  the  Buttonwood  ; 
While  bubbles,  in  the  circling,  seething  foam, 
His  last  words  utter,  i;  Love  !  I  come  t  I  eome  !rr 

This  is  the  butte-nwood.  —  What,  stranger,  start !' 
What  sudden  pang  has  seized  thy   hidden  heart  ? 
Dost  see  the  old  man  in  the  blasted  tree  — 
With  supplicating  arm  and  bended  knee  — 
The  moonbeam  glistening  ir>  his  upturned  eye  — 
His  son  in  shroud  of  foam  q»ick  drifting  by  ? 
Art  thou  or  sire  or  son  ?  or  both  in  one  ? 
Hast  thou  another's  heart  vrithin  thine  own  ? 
Canst  in  the  sentient  mirror  of  thy  soul 
Both  see  and  feel  another's  joy  or  dole  ? 
Thou  canst  I  Then  see  with  meT  both  son  and  sire, 
The  world  engulfed  in  cunacuzaambient  fire ; 
Burnt  to  an  ash  in  all  its  vital  parts  — 
Charred  to  the  centre  of  its  heart  of  hearts  ! 


*  "Quin-nrm-mough-koong,  or  Can-na-mangh,  or 
Otter  Creek,  as  the  name  signifies."—  McCullough. 

|  From  a  fancied  resemblance  to  the  paeksadtlle  of 
fhe  pioneers,  the  gap  or  gorge  through  which  the  Cone- 
•  TTiangh  traverses  the  Chestnut  Ridge  is  called  the  Pack- 
saddle.  Through  this  famous  gap  in  the  olden  time  the 
Pennsylvania  Canal  passed,  to  be  followed  by  its  great 
successor,  the  Pennsylvania  Kailroad  of  to-day. 

t  Theabele,  or  silver-leaf  poplar,  Populits  alba,  the 
Jeaves  of  which  are  dark  green  above  and  very  white- 
downy  beneath.  "Nothing  can  be  more  striking  than 
the  contrast  between  the  upper  and  lower  surface  of  the 
leaves."—  Wood. 

||  ''The  American  plane,  sycamore,  or  button  wood, 
[  Platanus  occidentalis,  1  is  found  on  the  streams  at  the 
bn.se  and  on  the  table-lands  of  the  A.lleghanies,  but  not 
on  its  summits.  Its  snow-white  stems,  mingled  with 
the  sombre  hemlock,  forms  one  of  the  finest  and  most 
striking  contrasts  in  nature."—  Jackson.  The  whiteness 
of  the  trunk  and  branches  is  owing  to  the  annual  separ 
ation  of  the  bark  in  large  scales,  leaving  the  surface  so 
smooth  that  a  squirrel  cannot  ascend  it. 


DR.    R.    M.    S.    JACKSON.  201 


DR.  R.  M.  S.  JACKSON. 


"  In  1838  Dr.  Jackson,—  a  man  of  singular  but  erratic 
genius,  who  became  a  distinguished  physician  in  West 
ern  Pennsylvania,  and  died  surgeon-in-chief  of  the 
Army  of  the  Cumberland  soon  after  the  battle  of  Look 
out  mountain  near  Chattanooga,  in  1863,—  made  a  dis 
covery  of  great  importance,  but  one  not  appreciated  for 
u  good  many  years  afterward.  After  examining  —  with 
eyes  from  the  glance  of  which  nothing  escaped,  and 
with  a  brain  never  excelled  —  every  iron  ore  bank  in 
Nittany  Valley,  Brush  Valley,  Penn's  Valley,  Sinking 
Creek  Valley  and  Kishacoquillas  Valley,  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  brown-hematite  ( limonite )  ore  of 
these  valleys  belonged  to  the  stratified  limestone  beds 
themselves,  and  had  been  set  free  from  them  by  chem 
ical  and  mechanical  decomposition.  This  view  was  not 
only  new  and  strange  to  the  iron  masters  and 
miners  of  the  region,  but  was  opposed  to  the 
prevailing  feeling  of  the  chief  geologist,  and  not 
publicly  accepted  by  him." —  LESLEY. 


What  broad-browed  man  is  this,  that,  standing  in 
The  vale  erect,  o'ertops  the  mountain's  height  ? 
What  chaos  this  that  girts  him  like  a  cloud  ? 
What  cosmos  this,  evolving  from  his  hand  ? 
What  logos  this  that  launches  from  his  lips 
In  tones  that  still  the  tempest's  roar  and  thunder  ? 
Stand  by  his  side,  0  Man,  if  thou  wouldst  know 
Of  time  but  in  the  heart-beat  of  an  eon ! 
Of  space  but  as  the  scope  of  thy  existence ! 
For,  in  the  brain,  behind  yon  broad-browed  blazon, 
The  Soul  of  Science  seethes  in  silence  in 
An  endless  ebullition  of  creation ! 


—  1838  — 

MOLL  DELL. 


So  great  was  the  belief  of  the  people  of  Somerset 
county  in  the  supernatural  powers  of  this  old  woman, 
that,  in  the  generalizing  language  of  my  informer,  she 


202  MOLL-  DELL.- 

kept  a  whole  township  digging  for  a  gold  mine  for  a  life- 
Time  —  till  the  excavations  made  looked  like  an  ineom- 
pleted  railroad  struck  by  Mghtning! 

A  witch  !  And  lo  F  the  shimlacrmn  of 

The  Soul  of  Science*  melts  into  a  mist 

That  sinks  upon  the  soil  of  Somerset  i 

The  circle  of  the  sorcerer  surrounds 

The  Little  World  of  Appalachia ; 

The  sun's  obscured ;  the  moon  awry  and  monstrous ; 

The  earth  is  the  abode  of  newts  and  bats, 

The  baneful  hemlock,  f  jimso-n  weed,  J  and  rhus  ;|{ 

A  Brief  voo  Gott§  hangs  on  the  cabin's  wall 

To  save  from  fire  and  thieves  and  pestilence; 

The  mirror  of  the  screened  erdspiegel^f  tells 

Of  the  unknown  within  the  earth  and  air; 

The  forked  crutch  of  hazel  and  of  peach** 

Sinks  wells  for  oil  and  water  by  the  thousand  ;~ 

The  sacred  symbol  of  the  yoni  hangs 

Above  the  doorway,  in  the  horseshoe's  form, 

To  save  the  inmates  of  the  hall  and  hovel 

From  every  evil  influence  an-d  harm 

That  might  attend  an  angry  witch's  charm  — 

The  human  heart,  within  the  name  Moll  Dell, 

Ts  rotten  in  the  grave  of  SIB  —  in  hell ! 


*  Dr.  R.  M.S.Jackson. 

i  Conium  mactilatum  —  the  poison  which  Socrates  is 
said  to  have  drank. 

J  The  Jamestown  weed,  corrupted  to  Jimsonweed,  or 
thorn-apple,  Datura  stramonium  is  one  of  the  poisonous 
plants  introduced  with  civilization  into  Southwestern 
Pennsylvania.  "  If  you  eat  the  burr  of  a  jimsonweed," 
the  boys  say,  "you  will  see  all  the  Indians  that  ever 
lived  in  the  country." 

||  The  oak-ivy,  Rhus  toxicodendron  v.radicans,  a  plant 
emitting  a  poisonous  effluvium. 

g  During  the  great  fire  in  Meyersdale,  in  1875,  a  "Let 
ter  from  God"  was  placed  in  a  building  in  advance  of 
the  flames  —  and,  curiously,  as  T  am  informed  by  acred- 
ible  gentleman,  the  fire  was  checked  at  that  particular 
house!  During  the  past  year,  I  observed  one  of  these 
curious  old  German  charms  against  fire  and  pestilence, 
witchcraft,  disease,  and  evil  in  general,  above  a  large 


T-HE    WITCH    OF    "WESTMORELAND.          203 


ironsafein  owe  of  the  best  bowses  in  Westmoreland 
•county.  It  was  over  a  hundred  years  old,  In  good  pres 
ervation.,  and  beyond  price, 

f  The  erdspiegel,  or  witch's  looking-glass,  is  still  in 
use  among  the  superstitions  in  Southwestern  Pennsyl 
vania.  In  1875,  a  little -boy  *iam<8d  Ankeny  was  lost  ou 
the  Laurel  Hilt,  east  of  Ligonier,  when  a,  witch  of 
•Somerset  county,  who  had/in  her  possession  an  erdspie 
gel,  was  sent  for,  that  she  might  see  exactly  where  he 
was  and  direct  aright  the  hutadreds  who  had  gathered 
from  far  and  near  to  the  scene  of  distress  on  the  moun 
tain.  Upon  her  arrival,  she  looked  into  her  glass  con 
cealed  in  the  bottom  of  a-tolack  bag;  but  the  presence  oi 
an  unbeliever  in  the  throng  so  becloaded  the  mirror 
that  the  child  has  not  been  seen  to  this  day. 

**  The  use  of  the  diviner's  rod  in  searching  for 
water,  oil,  and  minerals  of  value  is  very  common  ia 
Western  Pennsylvania.  It  surpasses  belief  the  fortunes 
which  have  been  squandered  in  the  oil  regions  in  the 
absolute  trust  of  the  ignorant  and  greedy  in  the  preten 
sions  of  the  oil-smellers  to  locate  wells  directly  over 
seas  of  oi  1. 


—  1838  — 

THE   WITCH  OF  WESTMORELAND. 

While  on  the  subject  of  witches  — 


*'  A  witch  ?  God  have  mercy  1  Fll  warrant  a  hag 

So  old  that  the  devil  himself  cannot  tell 
When    the   crooked    and    wrinkled    and    twisted 

zigzag 

Of  a  wry-mouthed  old  spinster  was  first  leagued 
with  —  well1'  — 

"Lord!  no  sir!  She's  only  a  year  old  to-day, 
And  as  round  and  as  red  and  as  sweet  as  a 

peach ! 
And  the  wonder  is,  not  when  she  leagued  —  as 

you  say, 

But  that  heaven  could  spare  such  a  witch  of  a 
witch ! " 


204         THE    WITCH    OF   WESTMORELAND. 


"Well,   what  can   she   do,   this    quintessence   of 

evil  — 

This  perversion  of  age  in  her  wicked  profession  ? 
I  presume  she  can  ride  on  a  broom  like  the  devil, 
And  crawl  thro'    the   keyhole    to   secret   con 
fession  ?" 


"  No  !  Csesar  Augustus  !  she  rides  in  a  gig, 

Or  is  carried  about  in  the  gentlest  of  arms  ; 
And  crawl  thro'  a  keyhole  —  why,  man,  she's 

this  big ! 

And  the  doors  open  wide  in  the  face  of  her 
charms ! " 


"Well,  seeing's  believing  —  but  what  of  her  cat, 
With  its  yellow  eyes,  hump-back,  and  tail  up, 
and  grin, 

As  big  as  a  barn  and  as  black  as  a  hat  — 
The  witch's  select  incarnation  of  sin  !  " 

"  Her  cat?  Why,  my  friend  it  is  yet  but  a  kitten, 
As  white  as  the  snow  and  as  soft  as  old  silk  ; 

Nor  devilish,  save  an  occasional  fit, 

Which  our  doctor  is  treating  with  sulphur 
and  milk!" 

"  Well,  what  of  her  figures  in  wax  —  I  suppose. 
She   has  or  does  something  of  which  I  have 
read? 

Can  she  melt  off  the  point  of  a  fair  lady's  nose, 
And  open  the  eyes  and  the  mouth  of  the  dead  ?  " 

"  Can  she  melt  off  the  point  —  I  have  seen  her 

myself 

Melt  three  or  four  noses  to  nothing  at  all  ; 
And  I've  seen  her  quite  often,  the  mischievous  elf. 
Make  a  dummy  of  gum  move  its  eyes  —  yea, 
and  squall ! " 


A   TOAST   TO   WOMAN.  205 

4i  And  of  course,  then.,  you've  seen  this  remarkable 

witch 
Mat  the  manes  of  the  horses  and  tie  the  cows^ 

tails., 

Sour  the  milk  m  the  churn,  and  give  one  the  itch 
Tid  he  scratch  iike  the  -devil  and  pray  for  his 
nails?" 


"Well,  ao ;  not  exactly;  but  this  I  will  swear, 
I've  seen  her  tie  knots  and  I  never  could  loose 

'em  — 
Yes,  the  tightest  of  knots  in  my  beard  and  my 

hair; 

And   as  for  sour  milk,  just   behold  my  shirt- 
bosom  ! 7' 


" Ah,  yes ;  now  I  take  —  yes,  you  mean  —  yea, 

I  see; 
Well,  no  matter  —  expect  me  to  see  her  at 

dinner, 
With  my  bell,  book,  and  candle  to  save  at  least 

cne 

From  the  spell  of  the  witch  and  the  hell  of  the 
sinner. " 


"  Yes,  come,  and  your  whole  end  of  town  bring 

along, 
And  I'll  show  you  this  witch  in  the  arms  of 

my  wife  — 
The  proudest  of  mothers  a  million  among, 

And  the  happiest  father   you've  seen  in  your 
life!" 


I  drink  to  the  woman  aglow  with  the  fire, 
That  burns  on  the  altar  eternal  of  Love ; 

A  spark  from  whose  eye  inflames  man  to  aspire 
To  wield  for  her  glory  the  lightning  of  Jove  ! 


206        THE    STORY    OF   POOR    LITTLE   SUE. 

—  1840-2  — 

THE  STORY  OF  POOR  LITTLE  SUE. 


A  memento  of  the  Washingtonian  temperance  revi 
val  in  Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  in  1840-2. 


What  a  night  may  do, 

My  child,  for  you, 

Nobody  knows ; 

But  list  to  the  story  of  poor  little  Sue, 

And  when  you  pray 

To  heaven,  say  — 

"  God  grant  that  I  may  share  my  joys 

With  other  children  —  girls  and  boys  — 

Who  have  perhaps  her  woes  ! " 


"  It  is  the  killdeer's*  cry  ! 

And  that  another  !  — 

I  know  it,  mother  ; 

For  all  the  evening,  Benny  and  I 

Were  chasing 

Them  'round  the  pond  — 

Anp  Sanquo  racing  !  — 

You  couldn't  tell 

He  had  but  three  legs  till  he  tripped  and  fell, 

Over  Benny's  sled, 

And  into  the  water  went  heels  over  head, 

Where  he  couldn't  -1-  straight,  bu  '  'round 

Before  he  found 

The  bottom  and  reached  dry  ground  ! 

Oh,  it  was  such  fun 

To  scare  the  kildeers  —  to  see  them  run. 

And  to  see  them  fly, 

And  scream  whenever  they'd  pass  us  by ! 

I  laughed  and  shouted,  and  Benny  stoned 

Till  he  couldn't  see  to  throw  at  all  — 

It  was  so  dark, 

And  he  so  tired, 

That,  in  the  mud  when  he  was  mired, 

He  was  so  scared  he  had  to  bawl !  — 


THE  STORY  OF  POOR  LITTLE  SUE.    207 


And  Sanquo  began  to  whine  and  bark  !  — 

Dear  me !  little  Benny's  asleep  on  his  chair  !  — 

How  father  will  laugh  to  see  him  there !  — 

But,  mother,  why  don't  he  come? 

I  am  so  hungry !  and  poor  little  Ben  — 

I  could  scarcely  keep  him  stoning !  —  but  then, 

I  knew  there  was  nothing  to  eat  at  home 

Till  father  would  come  from  the  store  !  — 

Why  is  it,  mother,  we  are  so  poor?  — 

And  father  —  was  never  so  late  before  ?  " 

^Hush!  hush!  — 

My  child,  it  was  a  startled  bird 

I  heard ; 

But  hush  !  — 

Without  his  bowl  of  mush, 

I  will  put  little  Benny  to  bed. 

Kiss  him  good  night  —  don't  bump  his  head  ! 

(  Dear  boy,  he  is  wasted  with  sickness  and  hunger ; 

Beyond  this  cold  night,  can  he  live  any  longer ! ) 

Now,  Sue, 

Do  you 

Say  your  prayers  for  both  —  ask  God  to  grant 

What  you  want : 

Your  father  to  come 

And  make  heaven  your  home  ! 

Good  night, my  child  —  a  kiss  —  there  —  another  — 

And  One  for  your  father  and  one  for  your  brother. 

Now  sleep  —  oh,  sleep  in  ignorant  bliss 

Of  the  trouble  that  trebbles  my  trembling  kiss  !  " 

It  was  a  startled  killdeer's  cry. 

But  the  hot  tears  welled  in  the  mother's  eye, 

As  she  took  a  shawl, 

Ragged  and  torn,  from  a  hole  in  the  wall, 

And  tucked  it  about  her  children  two, 

Father-like  Benny  and  mother-like  Sue.  — 

With  listless  love  she  tucked  it  about, 

With  her  head  from  her  hands  afar, 

But  not  her  heart,  — 

As  if  she  heard  the  distant  shout 


208        THE    STORY    OF    POOR   LITTLE   SUE. 


Of  the  maddened  revel  and  crazed  rout, 

And  in  the  midst  of  the  tumult  and  jar,  — 

But  of  the  tumult  a  thing  apart 

To  her  as  a  distant  star,  — 

A  shriek  recurring  I  and  then  the  laughter 

Of  twenty  demons  coming  after  f 

While  the  poisoned  cups  were  passed  and  quaffed,, 

And  one  still  shrieked  and  the  others  laughed ; 

While  the  cold  wind  b*w  through  tbe  hole  in  the  wall 

On  the  shivering  woman  without  fire  or  shawl  1 


"  It  is  the  hooting  of  an  owl !  — 

Look,  mother ! 

I  see  it  through  the  window-pane  ! 

It  sits  on  the  sill  — f 

And  oh,  so  still !  — 

Do  catch  it  for  brother 

Ben 

If  you  can ! 

The  light  of  the  candle  is  full  in  its  eyes ; 

And  how  it  twits 

Its  little  ears  no  bigger  than  kit's  — 

Oh,  don't  it  look  like  a  cat  in  disguise !  — 

Ah,  there  it  flies !  — 

Old  Sanquo  has  scared  it  away  with  his  howl !  — 

How  sad  little  Benny  to-morrow  will  be 

That  I  did  not  awake  him  the  owl  to  see  ! 

But  father  will  tell  him  a  story,  I  know, 

Of  a  witch  or  a  fairy  who  long  ago, 

In  the  shape  of  a  cat  with  chicken  wings, 

Did  many  strange  and  wondrous  things  — 

A  story  worth  forty  owls  like  that, 

That  only  could  look  liko  a  frightened  cat !  — 

Little  Benny  —  how  cold  he  grows ! 

And  breathes  "  strangely  and  picks at  the  clothes  !  — 

Father,  dear  father  —  I  wish  he  would  come  !  — 

I  wonder,  dear  mother,  if  father  knows 

How  we  love  him  and  miss  him  at  home  ? 

Or  why  every  evening  away  he  goes  — " 


THE    STORY    OF    POOR    LITTLE    SUE.        209 


"Hush!  hush! 

It  was  an  owl  —  but  do  not  push 

Little  Benny  against  the  wall ; 

Pull  up  the  shawl 

Over  his  arm  — 

Lie  close  to  him,  darling,  and  keep  him  warm.  — 

(But  what  a  strange  smell J  to  his  breath  — 

Or  is  it  his  clothes  —  the  musk 

From  the  rat  ||  Sanquo  killed  at  the  pond  at  dusk  ? 

O  God  !  let  it  bode  not  of  death  !) 

There,  turn  your  eyes,  Sue,  from  the  flickering  light; 

And  again,  for  your  father  and  brother, 

Kiss  your  mother 

Good  night  — 

While  the  village  bell 

Strikes  the  midnight  hour  with  a  sullen  blow, 

Measured  and  slow, 

As  if  ringing  a  knell !  " 

It  was  the  owl  —  perhaps  the  mother  — 

Or  one  and  th'  other 

That  waked  the  child. 

But  there  was  an  echo  in  the  sound, 

So  wild,    - 

So  weird  and  eldritch  and  inhuman, 

Could  not  be  found 

In  screech  of  owl  and  wail  of  woman  !  — 

An  echo,  of  a  distant  brawl, 

Winding  through  the  hole  in  the  wall  — 

Of  a  cask  upturned,  the  surer  and  quicker 

To  drain  the  last  drop  of  its  poisoned  liquor  — 

Of  the  curse  of  the  maddened  drunken  throng, 

As,  over  the  cup  half-filled  at  the  bung, 

They  quarrel  and  fight ; 

While  the  gaping  wound 

And  the  blood  that  reddens  the  beaten  ground 

Are  hid  in  the  blackness  of  night ! 


"Is  it  to-morrow,  dear  mother,  already? 

The  cock  is  crowing  —  yes,  yes,  that's  Neddy ! 

I  know  his  crow,  so  loud  and  long, 


THE    STORY   OF    POOR    LITTLE    SUE. 


As  if  he  were  going  to  sing  a  son** !  — 

Old  Neddy,  that  father  has  promised  to  buy, 

When  he  is-  rich,  that  Benny  and  I. 

When  Christmas  comes,  can  each  have  a  feather 

From  his  Ion?  tail,  to  play  soldier  together  I  — 

But  it  cannot  be  morning  ao<i  father  not  here  \ 

And  you  up  all  the  night?  Come,  mother,  dear.. 

Come,  come  to  bed  — 

For  Benny  is  chill, 

And  he  lies  so  still, 

I'm  afraid  to-  touch  him  for  fear  he  is  dead !  — 

But  hark  I 

It  is  father,  dear  mother,  I  hear  at  the  gate  ! 

But  why  does  Sanquo,  though  father  come  later 

So  wildly  bark  ? 

And  why  does  father  so  straagely  curse 

The  poor  old  dog  —  nay,  worse  and  worse, 

Old  Sanquo  kill !  — 

For  after  that  yelp  he  is  so  still  l'r 

'•  Hush  !  hush  f  my  child  ;  'tis  a  stranger's  walk  — 
Another's  —  another's  —  and  list !  they  talk  !  — 
What  is't  they  say  ?  '  O  God  !  who  shall  speak 
The  words  that  a  widow  and  orphans  make  !r  — 
Hush  1  hush  !  my  child  ;  little  Benny  has  gone  ! 
You  will  soon  be  lefc  in  the  world  alone ! 
Your  father's  without  on  a  drunkard's  bier  ! 
And  your  starved  mother  is  dying  here  ! 
Good  night  —  a  kiss,  my  child,  for  your  brother, 
And  one  for  your  father  and  one  for  your  mother  !  " 


The  killdeer  when  startled  at  eve  will  cry 

With  a  plaintive  voice  and  shrill  ; 

The  owl  to  the  night-watcher's  window  will  fly 

And  hoot  as  it  sits  on  the  sill ; 

The  cock  will  crow  at  the  dawn ; 

True  — 

But  maiden,  or  mother,  or  grandmother  Sue, 

Wrinkled  and  wan, 

Will  never  hear 


THE  "STORY    OP    POOR  TITTLE    SUE.        '2 


With  childhood's  ear 

Their  uotes  alone : 

The  killdeer  will  shriek,  MI  wild  affright, 

With  the  voice  of  her  mother  that  terrible  .night  ; 

The  owl  will  echo  the  mournful  knocks 

Of  the  froeen  clods  on  the  wooden  box 

That  hid  little  Benny,  her  brother, 

Her  father  and  mother,  — 

And  Sanquo  —  forever  from  sight ! 

While  the  cock  will  crow  in  the  morn 

With  the  sound  of  the  awful  horn 

That  will  herald  the  Judgment  Day, 

When, 

Father  and  mother, 

Sister  and  brother 

Will  come  together  — 

Their  sins  forgiven, 

To  dwell  in  heaven 

Alway !  —  * 

Yes,  Sanquo  will  be  in  heaven,  too, 

On  four  legs,  my  child,  with  Benny  and  Sue  — • 

Amenl 


*  "From  its  peculiar  note,  the  Killdeer 
vociferus,  ]  is  one  of  the  few  birds  of  our  country  known 
to  all  classes  and  ages  of  the  people."—  8.  F,  Baird. 

f  This  is  assumed  to  be  th-e  mottled  or  screech  owl, 
Scops  asio,  the  most  abundant  of  the  owls  inhabiting  the 
United  States,  an<i  one  in  which  the  ear-tufts  are  con 
spicuous.  The  incident  of  the  owl  alighting  on  the  sill 
and  looking  like  a  cat  at  tfre  light  through  the  window- 
pane,  I  received  from  the  distinguished  ornithologist, 
the  lamented  friend  of  my  boyhood,  John  Cassin,  of 
Philadelphia, 

J  The  musky  odor  of  dissolution  is  so  strong  some 
times  that  it  may  be  detected  by  the  human  nostril  an 
hour  or  more  before  death,  and  several  hours  before  and 
at  a  great  distance  by  the  infinitely  keener  nostril  of  the 
dog.  From  this  has  arisen  the  saying  that  the  howling 
of  a  dog  at  the  door  of  the  sick,  indicates  the  approach 
of  death. 

II  The  musk-rat,  Fiber  zibethicus,  very  common  in 
Southwestern  Pennsylvania. 


212         THE    JESTER    OF    OLD    KING    COAL. 


—  1844- 

THE  JESTER    OF  OLD   KING    COAL. 


In  the  year  1844,  Dr.  Alfred  T.  King,  of  Greensburg, 
drew  the  attention  of  the  scientific  world  to  Southwest 
ern  Pennsylvania,  by  the  publication  of  his  discoveries 
several  years  before  in  this  region,  to  wit,  certain  foot 
prints,  across  mud- or  sun-cracks,  and  the  pitting  of  a 
shower  of  rain,  in  several  slabs  of  rock  found  between 
two  seams  of  coal  in  the  neighborhood  of  Pleasant 
Unity,  Westmoreland  county,  furnishing  indisputable 
evidence  of  the  existence  of  air-breathing  vertebrates 
upon  the  planet  during  the  carboniferous  age,  and  con- 
traverting,  accordingly,  the  prevailing  geologic  theory 
of  the  time  to  the  contrary,  namely,  that  no  air-breath 
ing  animal  could  have  lived  in  the  atmosphere,  sur 
charged  with  carbonic  acid  gas  and  fatal  to  animal  life, 
which  was  necessary  to  furnish  the  requisite  pabulum  of 
the  extraordinary  plant-growths  of  that  period.  Subse 
quent  discoveries  have  verified  the  deductions  of  Dr. 
King  with  respect  to  the  foot-prints  of  the  batracho- 
saurian  of  his  publication  —  Thenaropus  heterodactylus. 
The  slabs  containing  these  foot-prints,  are  pictured  in 
several  of  the  standard  works  on  geology.  One  was  car 
ried  to  England  in  1846,  by  Sir  Charles  Lyell,  who  visit 
ed  Greensburg  to  satisfy  himself  of  the  authenticity  of 
the  tracks  and  the  measures  in  which  the  stones  were 
found;  a  second  is  in  the  Academy  of  Science  in  Phila 
delphia  (?);  while  the  third  is  in  the  hands  of  the  wri 
ter:  a  very  unpoetical-looking  stone  as  it  stands  in  a 
corner  of  his  study,  but  the  factor  in  his  environment, 
nevertheless,  that  has  fathered  the  following  to  a  mother 
of  morbid  feeling  but  faintly  portrayed  in  the  poem. 


It  was  the  merry  month  of  May, 

A  morning  warm  and  bright : 
The  dewy  gem  on  the  budding  stem 

Shone  with  the  diamond's  light. 

The  cat-bird,*  in  the  alder-bush, 

A  mime  of  music  made 
Of  the  ripple  and  dash  and  the  trickle  and  splash 

Of  the  rock-rill's  wild  cascade. 


THE    JESTER    OT    OLD    KING    COAl,.         '213 


The  bee,  in  the  scent  of  the  summer's  sweet, 
Hummed  hopeful  from  bud  to  bud, 

And  the  painted  troutf  darted  in  and  out, 
In  -sport  in  the  sparkling  'flood, 

"The  winter,  the  'night,  and  the  cloud  -were  gone. 
The  world  was  warm  and  bright ; 

E'en  the  Sorrow of  earth  seemed  changed  into  Mirth; 
And  Death  ioto  -dancing  Delight, 

Aye,  the  Dea-d  with  the  Quick  seemed  tx)  clasp  in  joy, 

And  around  m  a  waltz  to  go  ; 
All  —  all,  save  one,  who  sate  alone 

In  wretchedness  and  woe, 

A  man  in  the  ^nora  of  die  May-day  of  life, 

But  worn  with  grief  and  care : 
An  J  the  winter's  sky  beclouded  his  eye, 

And  the  hoar-frost  whitened  his  hair. 

When  the  world  was  glad,  he  alone  was  sad, 

In  a  winter's  'night  of  gloom, 
As  he  sate  on  a  sod,  ia  the  acre  of  Grod, 

Aad  -moaned  and  wept  o'er  a  tomb  — 

Where  years  ago,  —  but  as  yesterday. 
To  the  woe  that  notes  not  time,  — 

He  had  buried  ttie  wife  of  his  Spring  of  life.. 
And  the  so-n  of  his  Summer's  prime. 

And  with  them,  his  heart,  his  hope,  and  his  aim^ 

His  future  with  the  past : 
For  as  the  Spring  sows,  the  Summer  grows, 

And  the  Autumn  gathers  at  last. 


6" 


When  hark !  the  sound  of  a  merry  voke, 

Sympathetic,  steady,  and  strong, 
The  sob  suppressed  in  the  weeping  man's  breast. 

And  attuned  his  soul  to  song. 

"It  was  Old  King  Coal,  was  a  jolly  old  soul, 

And  a  jolly  old  soul  was  he ; 
He  called  for  his  pipe,  and  he  called  for  his  bowl, 

And  his  fiddlers,  one,  two,  three. 


214    THE  JESTER  OF  OLD  KING  COAL. 

"And  when  he  had  smoked  and  quaffed  his  fill. 

And  heard  his  fiddlers  three, 
He  shook  in  his  hall  and  began  to  bawl 

For  his  jolly  old  jester  in  me ! 

"  For  this  jolly  old  jest  of  the  King  on  his  throne  ; 

His  sceptre  of  power,  this  bauble ; 
His  golden  crown,  this  cap  of  a  clown, 

And  his  wisdom,  this  gibble-gabble  !  || 

"  But  Hey  !  daddle-diddle,  the  cat  and  the  fiddle. 

The  world  and  his  wife  are  apes, 
Looking,  each  in  the  glass  of  the  other's  face, 

And  turning  to  opposite  shapes  ! 

"The  King  on  his  throne  shall  prove  a  clown, 

And  the  wisest  man  a  fool, 
And  the'  fool  a  sage  when  he  overtakes  age 

To  kick,  like  a  football,  his  skull ! " 

When  lo !  a  little,  old  miner  appeared  — 
On  his  shoulder,  a  pointed  pick  — • 

Begrimed  with  soot  from  head  to  foot  — 
On  his  cap  a  burning  wick. 

A  little,  old  man  in  the  Winter  of  life, 
But  as  bright  as  the  bursting  bud  : 

An  the  Spring's  morning  sky  beamed  in  his  eye, 
And  the  Summer's  sun  warmed  his  blood. 

"What,  ho  !  my  lad,  thy  soul  is  sad," 

The  little,  old  miner  said, 
With  a  look  of  surprise  in  his  sparkling  eyes, 

And  a  toss  of  his  dust-dyed  head. 

"Because,  forsooth,  thou  hast  buried  thy  youth. 

Must  thou  bury  thy  manhood's  might, 
And  the  merry  old  age  of  the  satisfied  sage, 

Who  sees  in  the  darkness  the  light. 

"  Come  along  with  me,  and  thou  shalt  see, 

That  Man  gathers  as  he  gives ; 
Yea,  my  lad,  that  Man  with  the  world  began,§ 

And  that  as  he  dies,  he  lives. 


THE  JESTER  OF  OLD  KING  COAL.    215 


"  As  the  one  revolves,  the  other  evolves, 

Like  a  part  within  a  whole  — 
His  body  a  part  of  the  world's  throbbing  heart, 

His  life  of  the  world's  sentient  soul. 

"  Come  along  with  me,  and  thou  shalt  see, 

That  the  world  as  it  rolls  about, 
In  the  multiple  forms  of  its  wheedling  worms, 

Is  but  turning  itself  in  and  out  — 

•'  Till  Winter  and  Summer  and  Autumn  and  Sring, 

Since  first  the  world  began, 
Like  a  model  of  weather  are  mingled  together, 

And  involved  in  a  second  self,  Man  ! 

"Till,  Hey  !  daddle-diddle,  the  cat  and  the  fiddle, 

Who  best  in  the  world  can  sing, 
But  the  satisfied  sage  in  the  Winter  of  age, 

Who  sees  himself  dancing  in  Spring ! 

"  Come  along  with  me,  and  thou  shalt  see, 

As  he  only  can  see  the  light 
Of  the  sun  afar  in  the  twinkling  star, 

Who  looks  in  the  darkness  of  night. 

"Aye,  Hey  !  daddle-diddle,  the  cat  and  the  fiddle, 

He  best  of  heaven  can  tell, 
Who  lies  on  his  back  and  looks  up  thro'  a  crack, 

From  the  depth  of  the  damn'dest  in  hell  ! 

"Come  along  with  me  and  thou  shalt  see, 
In  the  grave  of  thy  son  and  wife, 

That  as  thou  hast  laid  thyself  with  the  dead, 
Thou  hast  risen  into  life  !  " 

Astounded,  aghast,  from  the  grave  of  the  Past, 
The  weeping  man  rose,  weak  and  white  — 

Like  the  tender  sprout  when  it  first  peeps  out 
Of  the  dark  world  into  the  light. 

And  with  faltering  steps,  he  followed  behind 

The  Jester  of  Old  King  Coal, 
With  the  pointed  pick  and  the  burning  wick, 

Till  they  came  to  a  deep,  black  hole. 


2T6         THE   JESTER   OF  OLD    KING   COAE. 


A  deep  black  hole  in  the  crust  in  the  earth. 
Where  the  whe^l  went  rouod  and  roundl 

And  the  iron  cage like  youth  and  age  — 

Went  up  and  down  in  the  ground. 

Where  all  was  worry  and  bu??y  and1  flurry, 

Amo»g  a  busy  throng 
Of  earth-born  elves,  seeing  only  themselves*. 

As  they  saag  the  Miner's  Soag. 


Dig !  dig  f  dig  f  dig  f 

In  the  dead  of  night  and  alora-er 
With  a  pointed  pick  and  a  waning  wick. 

In  a  world  that  has  turned  to  stone  !' 

Dig  !  dig  f  dig  I  dig  I 

As  thou  hast  begun  at  birth  r 
A  shadowy  form  in  the  semblance  of  wormy 

Recreating  a  su»  and  an  earth  t 

Pig  !  dig  I  dig  !  dig ! 

Till  the  wick  expires  with  a  breath, 
And  the  pick  turns  to  rust  with  a  skull-full  of  dust , 

In  the  grave  Life  has  dug  for  Death  ! 


Where  all  was-  worry  and  hurry  and  flurry, 

The  jester  aad  mourner  came, 
And  while  the  elves  saw  only  themselves, 

They  stepped  in  the  iron  frame. 

"  Ha  I  here  we  go  down  I  down  I  down  I" 

The  old  man  said  and  laughed, 
"  Thror  many  a  fold  of  our  mother  mould 

That  is  pierced  by  this  vertical  shaft, 

"  Ha !  and  here  we  go  back  I  back  !  back  ! 

In  our  descending  cage, 
From  the  last  quiv'ring  ray  of  the  living  to-day 

To  the  dead  carboniferous  age. 


THE  JESTER  OF  OLD  KING  COAL.     217 


'•  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  we  go  down  and  back, 
From  the  present  struggle  and  strife, 

Like  two  worms,  in  our  cage,  piercing  page  after  page 
Of  the  musty  old  Ledger  of  Life  I^f 

"  Until,  lo  !  with  a  thump  we  have  come  to  the  sump, 
In  the  depth  of  our  worm-eaten  hole, 

Two  shadowy  forms  in  the  semblance  of  worms, 
In  the  court  of  Old  King  Coal !  " 

Singing,  Hey  !  daddle-diddle,  the  cat  and  the  fiddle, 

The  jester  danced  and  laughed  ; 
While,  staring  aghast  in  the  gloom  of  the  past, 

The  mourner  shook  in  the  shaft. 

"  Nay,  shake  not,  my  lad,"  the  old  man  said, 

"  At  these  files  of  upright  posts, 
That  stand  in  the  gloom  of  this  regal  room, 

Like  a  guard  of  grizzled  ghosts. 

"For  they  are  with  us  of  the  earth  of  to-day, 

The  living  among  the  dead  ; 
In  the  fungus  that  grows  on  these  sentry  rows, 

See  the  hairs  of  the  hoary  head.** 

"  See  the  hairs  of  the  hoary  head  that  appear 
"When  the  lamp  of  thought  is  lit, 

And  the  quaking  and  quick  see  themselves  ^^  a  pick 
At  work  in  their  own  charnel  pit. 

"Nay,  shake  not,  my  lad,  in  affright  and  dread, 

At  the  fungus  on  the  post, 
Tho'  in  it  thou  stare  at  the  first  grey  hair 

That  reveals  in  thee  living,  thy  ghost ! 

"  Have  courage,  my  lad  !  Yea,  be  merry  and  laugh, 

Till,  in  thy  gasping  breath, 
Thou  seest  a  host  of  friends  in  these  ghosts, 

And  a  jolly  good  fellow  in  Death ! 

"Yea,  till  Death  appear  in  this  terrene  tomb, 

With  the  wagging  beard  in  glee 
Of  Old  King  Coal,  with  his  pipe  and  bowl, 

His  fiddlers,  and  jester  in  me ! 


218"    THE  JESTER  Of  OLD  KING  COAL. 


Singing  Hey  !  daddle  diddle,  the  cat and  the  fiddle- 
While  the  lamp  of  thought  is  lit, 

He  lives  a  fool  who  kicks  not  his  skull 
As  a  ball  in  the  field  of  his  wit. 

"  Have  courage,  ray  lad  !  Yea,  be  merry  and  laugh r 

For,  live  in  the  air  or  earth, 
With  a  waning  wick  and  a  pointed  pick, 

Thou  but  diggest  thy  grave  from>  thy  birth  ! 

"Aye,  with  haloes  of  heaven  surround  thy  head,. 

And  with  halidoms  hedge  thy  heart, 
The  shadowy  form  will  still  change  its  form, 

While  the  living  and  dead  never  part ! 

"  Come,  come,  my  lad ;.  let  us  dig  together, 

For  dig  as  dig  we  may, 
With  a  waning  wick  and  a  pointed  pickr 

We  but  turn  over  our  own  clay. 


"  Come,  come  —  the  worm  but  changes  ks  form  ; 

There  is  nothing  gained  oy  lost 'T 
The  earth  i&  itself  but  a  changeling  elf 

In  the  arms  of  a  gadding  ghost  1  'r 

The  jester  said,  as  he  walked  before, 
And  the  mourner  followed  after  — 

Like  the  shadow  of  night  that  follows  the  light, 
And  the  silence  that  follows  laughter. 

The  jester  said  as  he  walked  before, 

Light  and  laughter  in  a  tomb, 
Turning  here  his  wick  and  there  his  pick, 

As  he  went  from  room  to  room. 

The  jester  said,  in  the  court  of  King  Coal, 
With  the  bauble  and  cap  of  mirth, 

Turning  night  to  light  and  death  to  breath  — 
Recreating  a  sun  and  an  earth  ! 


o 


The  jester  said  and  the  mourner  saw 

Till  his  brain  in  bewilderment  whirled, 

At  the  infinite  range  of  forms  wondrous  and  strange 
That  shadowed  and  shaped  the  old  world ! 


THE  JESTER  OF  OLD  KING  COAT,.    219 


Ferns,  mosses,  and  crollsff  looming  up  into  trees; 

Reeds  spearing  themselves  into  space ; 
And  spreading  pines  with  bristling  spines 

Hedge-hogging  their  way  thro'  the  mass  ! 

Winged  dragons,^  like  clouds,  with  jaws  and  claws, 

O'ershadowing  steaming  pools, 
Where,  afloat  like  logs,  lay  huge  crocodile-frogs, 

And  sharks  swam  about  in  schools  ! 

The  mourner  saw  till  sight  became  sound  — 

And  the  jest-er  began  to  sing, 
From  slow  to  fast,  and  from  low  to  a  blast 

That  made  the  cavern  ring. 

"  Singing,  Hey  !  daddle-diddle, the  eat and  the  fiddle. 

The  worm  walked  in  the  sun, 
And,  as  it  passed  a  shadow  it  cast 

To  be  turned  at  its  heels  into  stone, 

"  And  as  it  has  been,  it  is,  and  will  be ; 

The  worm  goes  on  and  on, 
From  change  to  change  in  an  infinite  range, 

Rolling  after  itself  in  stone  — 

*'  Rolling  after  itself  in  a  world  of  stone  — 

The  heart  with  all  it  feels, 
And  the  head  with  the  wit  that  evolves  from  it> 

All  hard  on  the  hurrying  heels ! 

"  Singing,  Hey  !  daddle-diddle, thc  cat aud  the  fiddle, 
The  crotchets  of  king  and  clown, 

With  their  shadows  that  fall  on  the  palace  wall, 
Shall  come  behind  them  in  stone  ! 

"  Till  the  rocks sha11  be  rippled  with  smile  Ul>on  smile, 

And  the  Future  stare  aghast 
At  the  wonderful  forms  of  the  merry  old  worms 

That  sang  and  danced  in  the  Past  — 

"Of  Old  King  Coal,  with  his  pipe  and  bowl, 
And  his  fiddlers,  one,  two,  three, 

When,  to  laugh  over  all,  he  began  to  bawl 
For  his  jolly  old  jester  in  me ! 


220    THE  JESTER  OF  OLD  KING  COAL. 

"  Why,  mark  thou,  my  lad, "  said  the  merry  old  man, 

Re-trimming  his  waniqg  wick, 
When,  turning  around  in  the  hole  in  the  ground, 

He  plied  his  pointed  pick. 

He  plied  his  pointed  pick,  until 

A  great  rock  parted  in  twain, 
When,  behold  !  a  track  and  a  trampled  sun-crack, 

And  above  all  the  spatter  of  rain ! 

"  Why,  mark  thou,  my  lad  ;  the  worm  that  made 

This  track  in  the  olden  time 
Was  a  goggled-eyed  frog  that  crept  out  of  a  bog 

In  a  coat  of  grey-green  slime. 

"  For  the  frog  would  a- wooing  go,  as  frogs  will, 

When  up  came  a  sudden  rain, 
And  drove  the  beau  back  across  the  sun-crack, 

And  into  the  bog  again  ! 

"  And  the  rain  continued  until  the  bog 

Rose  above  the  sun-burnt  brim, 
And  with  its  flood  encased  in  mud 

Track,  crack,  and  rain  for  all  time. 

"That  the  Worm,  looking  back  upon  the  track 
Which  it  made  as  a  frog  in  the  rain, 

Shall  never  despair  to  leave  somewhere 
The  track  which  it  makes  as  a  Man  ! 

"  The  track  which  it  makes  as  a  Man  —  the  worm 
That  has  crept  away  from  the  bog, 

And  raised  its  head,  till  it  stands  o'er  its  dead, 
On  the  hindfeet  alone  of  a  frog  — 1||| 

"The  breath  which  he  breathes  in  the   open  air, 

His  laughter  and  his  groan, 
E'en  the  subt'lest  thought in  his  phantasy  wrought, 

Shall  roll  at  his  heels  in  stone  ! 

"Singing,  Hey !  daddle-diddle,  the  catand  the  fiddle, 

The  Jester  of  Old  King  Coal, 
With  the  world  that  began  with  himself  in  Man, 

To  the  end  of  both,  shall  roll !  " 


'THE  JESTER  OF  OLD  KIXG  COAL.    22!i. 


And  the  jester  danced  with  a  lighter  step 
lUp  and  down  in  the  dusty  room, 

'Till  the  waning  wick  and  the  pointed  .pick 
Gleamed  in  the  upper  gloom  — 

••Gleamed  in  'the  upper  g!oom  of  the  mine. 

Where  the  fire-damp §§  held  its  breath,  -— 

When  a  lightning  flash  and  a  thunder  crash 
.Announced  .King -Coal  as  Death  ! 

The  old  man  fell  on  the  $oor  of  the  mine, 
His  wiok  goine;  out  with  his  wit, 

.And  his  pick,  in  his -skull,  sinking  senseless  aBd  d-ull 
In  the  grave  it  had  dug  in  the  pit  1 

While  the  mourner  fell  on  the  old  man's  corse, 

His  head  above  the  flood  ^ 
Of  the  after-damp  rolling  back  to  the  swamp 

Like  a  stream  of  envenomed  blood. 

And  there  he  lay  till  the  resoner  came, 
Thro'  the  crevice  above  the  'mass 

That  fell  in  the  room  from  the  upper  gloom, 
Where  the  'flickering  wick  fired  the  gas. 

And  there  he  lay  till  the  rescuer  came, 

And  -carried  him  rato  the  light, 
Among  the  elves  who  forgot  themselves 

With  the  presence  of  Death  in  their  sight, 

When  lol  two -doctors  came  riding  posthaste, 

With  their  lancets  drawn  out  of  the  sheath, 

When,  horse  to  horse,  they  met  in  their  course. 
And  bled  ooe  another  to  death  J 

And  lo !  two  lawyers,  ra  wigs  and  gowns, 

Came  in  great  pomp  and  state, 
When,  each  breaking  a  jaw  in  expounding  the  law, 

They  divided  the  mourner's  estate ! 

And  lo !  two  preachers  came,  solemn  and  grave, 
And  upon  their  marrowbones  fell ; 

When,  the  mourner  forgiven,  they  sent him  to  heaven, 
And  each  other  damned  to  hell ! 


222    THE  JESTER  OF  OLD  KING  COAL. 

- 

And  two  undertakers,  with  coffins  and  crape, 

Came  along  as  silent  as  sin, 
Till,  hearing  their  knocks  on  each  other's  box, 

They  called  out  politely,  Come  in  ! 

Two  worms,  in  short,  in  different  shapes, 

Unable  their  greed  to  smother, 
Met  under  the  form  of  their  fellow- worm, 

And  began  to  devour  one  another ! 

"When,  breathing  again  the  air  of  to-day, 
And  feeling  the  warmth  of  the  sun, 

The  mourner,  aghast  at  his  dream  of  the  past. 
Awoke  from  the  world  of  stone. 

When  all  the  shadowy  shapes  of  his  dream 

Sank  into  the  depth  of  the  hole, 
Where,  holding  his  breath  in  the  presence  of  Death. 

Lay  the  Jester  of  Old  King  Coal. 

With  arm  and  leg  enfeebled  and  cramped, 

The  mourner  rose  from  the  sod, 
And  stood  on  the  dead  beneath  him  laid 

In  the  world-wide  acre  of  Grod. 

When  back  came  the  thoughts  of  his  dream  of  the  past. 

To  solace  and  strengthen  his  soul  — 
Like  an  echo  in  sound  of  a  voice  in  the  ground  — 

The  Jester  of  Old  King  Coal. 

The  Jester  of  Old  King  Coal  in  himself, 
Deep  down  in  the  shaft  of  the  earth, 

That  round  and  round  whirled  in  the  Little  World 
That  began  its  course  with  his  birth. 

And  behold  !  in  the  morn  of  the  merry  May-day, 
When  the  sun  shone  warm  and  bright, 

The  Sorrow  of  earth  was  turned  into  Mirth, 
And  Death  into  dancing  Delight ! 

For  the  tear,  in  the  eye  of  the  weeping  man. 

Gleamed  in  the  light  of  the  sun, 
Like  the  dewy  gem  that  spangled  the  stem, 

Ere  it  passed  into  mist  —  and  stone. 


THE  JESTER  OF  OLD  KING  COAL.    223 


And  the  sob,  in  the  breast  above  the  grave, 

Assumed  the  tuneful  tone 
Of  the  cascade  note  from  the  cat-bird's  throat, 

Ere  it  sank  into  silence  —  and  stone. 

While  the  leg  and  the  arm,  enfeebled  and  cramped, 
With  the  might  of  mirth  moved  on  — 

Like  the  bee  and  the  trout  as  they  darted  about, 
Ere  they  sped  out  of  sight  —  into  stone. 

And  the  mourner  lived,  like  a  Winter's  corse 
With  a  May-day  morning's  soul, 

Till,  holding  his  breath  in  the  presence  of  D3ath, 
Like  the  Jester  of  Old  King  Coal  — 

He  sank  into  stone,  with  his  bauble  and  cap, 
That  the  Future  might  stare  aghast 

At  the  wonderful  forms  of  the  merry  old  worms 
That  sang  and  danced  in  the  Past. 


*  Mimus  Carolinensis,  vel  felivox.  "  It 
something  of  the  faculty  of  mimicing  other  birds,  and 
is  often  heard  using  notes  of  their  songs  mingled  with 
its  original  lay."—  Jackson.  "  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
that  he  possesses  no  original  note  of  his  own,  but  ac 
quires  and  modulates  the  songs  of  other  birds."—  Nut- 
tall.  Again  and  again,  I  have  listened  to  the  rolicsome, 
tumble-down  song  of  this  remarkable  songster,  and  can 
compare  it  to  nothing  more  appropriate  than  the  rock- 
rill's  wild  cascade,  rippling  and  splashing,  trickling  and 
dashing  over  and  under  the  unequal  rocks  in  a  ravine 
on  the  mountain's  side. 

t  "  Far  up  in  the  mountain  rivulets,  even  to  the 
spring  as  it  escapes  through  the  fissures  of  the  rock,  this 
species  [the  brook-trout,  Salmo  fontinalis,]  climbs. 
Wherever  fresh  water,  especially  cold  spring-water,  is 
found  in  sufficient  quantity  to  immerse  their  bodies, 
they  abound  in  hole  and  eddy,  in  pool  and  rapid,  and  it 
is  wonderful  how  they  thread  their  way  up  the  moun 
tain  side  through  the  swift-rushing  streams,  over  falls 
boiling  through  rocks,  roots  and  drifts  *  *  *  *  In 
the  clear,  bright  spring-runs  of  the  mountain,  the  trout 
is  generally  thought  to  attain  his  greatest  perfection  of 
coloring,  sporting  his  handsome  figure  and  brilliant 
tints  to  perfection."—  Jackson. 

J  As  if  —  allowable  in  poetry. 


11±         THE   JESTER   Of  OLD    KTSG   COAE. 

I  The  philosophy  of  this  poem  may  be  said  to  consist' 
in  expression  by  opposites-,  as  stated  in  the  following, 
stanza. 

§  Man  being  the  highest  development  on  the  planet,, 
he  is  the  oldest,  according  to  the  theory  of  evolution,  as 
I  understand  it.  The  idea  is  expressed  fally  in  a  subse 
quent  poem;  "The  Last  Man."" 

If  M.  Piegnot  mentions  an  instance  where,  in  a  pub 
lic  library  that  was  frequented  but  Mttle,  twenty-seven- 
folio  volumes  were  perforated  in  a  straight  line  by  one 
and  the  same  larva  of  a  small  insect  (  Anobiitm>  pertinax 
vel  A.  Striatum,)  in  snch  a  manner  that,  on  passing  a 
cord  throogh  the  perfectly  round  hole  made  by  the  in 
sect,  these  twenty-seven  volumes  could  be  raised  at 
once. —  Cowan  y  Curious  Hist,  of  I>*sects\  p.  6r.. 

**  That  is,  the  pit-posts,  like  the  jester  and  monrnerr 
belong  to  the  present  age,  having  been  placed1  in  the' 
mine  HS  supports.  The  fungus,  referred  to,  is  one  of  the 
most  extraordinary  forms  of  life  to-  be  met  with  above 
or  below  the  surface  of  the  earth.  In  the  light  of  the 
miner's  lamp,  it  is  snowy  white,  like  the  softest  woolr 
hanging  sometimes  in  great  beards  and  festoons,  or 
mantling  over  the  timbers-of  the  mine  in  multiple  folds- 
of  down^  When  examined  closely,  it  resembles  cobweb- 
and  mist  intertangled  and'  mixed;  and  when  brought 
out  of  the  damp  atmosphere  of  the  mine,  into*  the  ordin 
ary  air  of  open  day,  it  dissolves  into  naught. 

ft  Crolls,  lichens,  snch- as  lung-wort  and'  rock-tripe^ 

££  Not  necessarily  the  pterodactyl es  of  a  later  age; 
for,  I  doubt  not,  there  were  winged  dragons  in  the  car 
boniferous  age  as  well  as  in  succeeding  eons.. 

Hi  The  identity,  part  for  part,  of  the  five-toed  foot  of 
.Man  to-day,  with  that  of  the  five-toed  foot  of  the  batra- 
chian  of  the  coal  measures  rs  remarkable.  His  develop 
ment  has  been  above  the  feet. 

§g  Fire-damp,  or  marsh-gas,  as  it  ra  called  some 
times,  is  the  proto-carburetted  or  light  carburetted  hy 
drogen  gas  of  the  chemist.  Like  the  gas  burned  in 
houses,  it  requires  to  be  mixed  with  a  proportion  of  air 
before  it  Js  combu'stibie  or  explosive.  Being  lighter  than 
the  air,  it  is  found  in  the  "  npper  gloom  'r  of  the  coal 
pit,  as  stated"  in  the  poem.  The  white-damp  of  the 
miner  is  the  carbonic  oxide  of  the  chemist. 

ffi  The  after-damp,  stythe,  choke-damp,  or  black- 
damp,  resulting  from  the  combustion  of  fire-damp,  is 
the  carbonic  acid  gas  of  the  chemist.  It  is  heavier  than 
The  atmosphere,  flowing  after  an  explosion  in  a  mine 
like  water  to  the  lowest  level,  the  swamp  of  the  mine, 
technically  speaking. 


STEPHEN    C.    FOSTER.  225 


—  1851  — 

STEPHEN  COLLINS  FOSTER. 


Possibly  the  songs  of  Stephen  Collins  Foster,1  of  Alle 
gheny  City,  have  attained  a  popularity  greater  than  that 
of  any  other  writer  in  any  age  or  country.  And  he  is 
regarded  generally  as  the  founder  of  the  school  of  song 
known  as  Negro  Melody  —  a  school  of  song  that  ad 
dresses  itself  to  the  ear  and  the  heart,  while  the  school 
of  Jim  Crow,  or  Negro  Minstrelsy,  is  satisfied  in  delight 
ing  the  ear  and  the  eye.  The  association  of  the  negro 
element  in  Mr.  Foster's  songs  was,  as  in  the  case  of  Ne 
gro  Minstrelsy,  the  result  of  an  accident  in  his  environ 
ment:  the  wharves  of  Pittsburgh,  which  the  lad  fre 
quented  with  others  of  his  years,  being  the  place  where 
the  runaway  slaves  from  the  South,  arriving  on  the 
steamboats,  felt  for  the  first  time  that  they  were  stran 
gers  in  a  strange  land;  and,  in  their  simple  stories  to  the 
throngs  of  boys  about  them,  of  the  "  old  folks  at  home, 
'way  down  upon  the  Swanee  ribber,"  or  of  "the  old 
Kentucky  home  far  away,"  they  inspired  the  sentiment 
which  pervades  the  songs  of  Mr.  Foster  from  beginning 
to  end.  In  1844,  in  competition  for  a  silver  cup  offered 
by  a  confectioner,  by  name  Andrews,  on  Wood  street. 
Pittsburgh,  he  produced  the  first  song  which  gave  him 
prominence  as  a  musician;  and  in  1851,  he  published 
"The  Old  Folks  at  Home,"  the  most  popular  of  his  cele 
brated  productions. 


The  mocking-bird  !  *  List  to  its  wondrous  song 
Commingling  many  melodies  in  one ! 

You  are  deceived.     It  is  a  crowf  that  sings, 

Within  the  gilded  confines  of  a  cage 

Hung  in  the  parlors  of  the  opulent  — 

A  crow  that  hoarsely  croaked  a  caw  !  caw  !  caw  ! 

Until  the  Master  came  and  caught  the  bird, 

And,  with  the  touch  of  genius,  slit  its  tongue, 

And  tuned  its  voice  to  melody  as  sweet 

As  ever  echoed  in  the  ear  in  song 

To  harmonize  the  human  heart  with  heaven ! 

But  whence  the  harp,  that,  with  concordant  notes, 
The  sympathetic  circle  of  the  song 
Extends  beyond  the  compass  of  the  crow  ? 


'2'ZC)  SCIENCE    AND    POESY. 

You  are  deceived  again.     It  is  a  jrourd, 

That,  hollowed  out  and  dried  and  filled  with  beans,, 

Rang,  rattling  with  a  wild  discordant  noise, 

Until  the  Master  carae,  and  lo  I  the  shell, 

Strung  with  the  heartstrings  of  humanity, 

Resounded  with  the  soul  in  sympathy  f 

It  is  the  Banjo,  sir,  that  supplements 

The  wondrous  warbliugs  of  the  slit-ton^ued  Crow. 


*  The  geographical  range  ascribed  to  the  mocking 
bird,  Mimus  polyyiottus,  includes  South  western  Pennsyl 
vania;  but,  in  my  rambles,  I  have  never  seen  it  in  this 
region.  There  is  a  marvelous  bird  here,  however,  close 
ly  allied  to  the  mocking-bird,  and  so  called  commonly 
by  the  country-folk,  namely  the  thrasher,  or  ferrugin 
ous  thrush,  Harporhynchus  ricfus,  which  is  worthy  of  es 
pecial  notice.  It  is  the  thrush,  referred  to  in  "The  Maid 
and  the  Mirage,"  p,166, 1.  14,  of  which  I>r.  Jackson  says  — 
"Its  musical  faculties  sre  very  little  inferior  to  those 
of  the  mocking-bird,  and  many  of  its  combinations  for 
depth  of  pathos  and  emotion  are  even  superior.  Mount 
ed  on  the  topmost  twig  of  a  tree  or  bush,  his  '  full  heart 
laboring  with  instinctive  feeling,'  he  pours  out  his  loud, 
Hear  notes,  in  sweet  aod  trilling  warbles,  or  mingled 
with  low,  plaintive,  and  tender  tones.'' 

t  The  refined  melodies  of  Mr.  Foster  are  as  far  super 
ior  to  the  compositions  of  the  negro  of  America,  as  the 
song  of  the  rnocking-bird  is  superior  to  the  croaking  of 
the  crow.  It  is  not  so  marvelous,  hence,  that  a  crow 
should  sing  the  song  of  the  mocking-bird,  as  that  a  ne 
gro  should  be  the  author  of  "The  Old  Folks  at  Home," 
or  "  Massa's  in  the  cold,  cold  ground." 


—  1854  — 

SCIENCE  AND  POESY. 


Among  the  treasures  of  the  writer,  he  esteems  of  the 
greatest  value  a  memento  of  friendship  of  the  venera 
ble  philosopher  and  scientist,  Dr.  David  Alter,  of  Free- 
port,  a  piece  of  glass,  a  prism  in  shape,  a  little  fractured 
along  the  edges,  but  withal  the  prism  with  which  this 
distinguished  gentleman  made  Ae  experiments  which 
resulted  in  the  discovery  of  the  mode  of  scientific  inves 
tigation  known  as  Spectrum  Analysis,  an  achievement, 


SCIENCE    AND    POESY. 


regarded  by  the  encyclopedists,  as  one  of  the  most  bril- 
•3ifint  of  the  Nineteenth  Centuvy:  the  indisputable  evi 
dence  of  which  discovery,  five  years  before  an  an 
nouncement  to  the  same  effect  by  Professor  Kirchoff,  of 
Heidelberg,  is  to  be  found  in  Sillirnan's  American  Jour 
nal  of  Science  and  Art  for  the  year  1854,  followed  by  a 
more  explicit  article,  with  daguerreotypes  of  the  Solar 
Spectrum,  in  the  volume  for  the  succeeding  year  of  1855, 
The  writer  has  in  preparation  a  paper  entitled  A  For 
gotten  Page  in  the  History  of  Spectrum  Analysis  which 
will  exhibit  the  fact  of  the  republication  in  Germany  of 
Dr.  Alter's  original  papers,  bringing  the  results  of  his 
experiments  and  deductions  directly  before  the  eyes  of 
the  distinguished  gentleman  in  the  sunshine  of  whose 
glory  the  distant  star,  in  the  constellation  of  South 
western  Pennsylvania,  has  escaped  the  observa 
tion  of  the  general  gazer. 

Behind  this  prism  of  glass,*  behold  the  ey-e 

Of  the  philosopher  directed  to 

The  fiery  furnace  of  the  distant  sun  ; 

Until,  afar  on  the  periphery 

Of  human  knowledge  thro'  the  sense  of  sight, 

He  sees,  as  in  the  coal-fire  in  his  grate. 

The  elements  afire  and  luminous  — 

The  elements  dissevered  and  distinct 

As  gold  and  silver  in  the  sage's  hand  if 

This  is  the  Eye  of  Science,  sir,  that  looks 
Out  from  the  centre  to  circumference  — 
Its  vision  ever  wid'ning  with  the  rim, 
Until,  God  wot,  the  head  of  Man  careens 
Among  the  stars  a  vague  and  vapid  comet ; 
His  heart  forgotten  with  the  humble  earth  ! 

Now,  stand  before  this  prism,  upon  the  rim  — 

The  very  utmost  of  the  stretch  of  knowledge  — - 

And,  thro'  the  colors  of  the  bow  of  heaven 

That  play  upon  the  glass,  look  back  into 

The  eye  of  the  philosopher  and  see, 

Within  its  secret  depth,  the  human  Heart  — 

Humanity  with  all  its  woe  and  weal ! 

This  is  the  Eye  of  Poesy,  that  looks 
From  the  circumference  in  to  the  centre  — 


228  THE    SLAVE    OF   THE    LAMP. 

Its  vision  ever  drawing  to  a  point. 

Until,  involving  all  within  itself, 

The  universe  throbs  with  a  single  Heart ! 


*  This  prism  of  glass,  moreover,  has  another  associ 
ation  besides  its  use  that  is  worthy  of  notice.  It  was 
made  by  Dr.  Alter  from  a  fragment  of  a  great  mass  of 
very  brilliant  glass  found  in  the  pot  of  a  glass-house  de 
stroyed  in  the  Great  Fire  of  Pittsburgh,  April  10th,  1845. 

t  An  addition  to  the  old  proverb  of  "seeing  is  be 
lieving,"  is  "  and  feeling  is  the  naked  truth  ;  "  that  is. 
when  two  of  the  senses  are  satisfied,  the  fact  may  be  re 
garded  as  demonstrated  beyond  dispute. 


—  1859  — 

THE  SLA  VE  OF  THE  LAMP. 


The  following  poem  is  designed  to  fix  in  the  memo 
ry  of  the  reader  the  origin  of  the  oil  or  petroleum  which 
has  made  Western  Pennsylvania  notable  throughout 
the  world,  namely,  that  it  is  a  distillation  of  sea-weed  — 
Kelp,  Fucus,  or  Algie  — which  has  grown  beneath  the 
surface  of  the  water  in  masses  similar  to  the  Sea  of  Sar 
gasso  in  the  Atlantic  of  to-day  ;  and  that  it  is  connect 
ed  or  associated  with  coal  —  the  product  of  plants  which 
have  grown  in  the  air  —  in  no  manner  whatsoever,  the 
theories  of  several  savants  to  the  contrary  notwith 
standing.  The  date,  1859,  is  memorable  in  the  history  of 
oil;  for  on  the  28th  of  August  of  that  year,  in  the  first 
oil-well  drilled  by  E.  L.  Drake,  on  Oil  Creek,  in  Cherry- 
tree  township,  Venango  county,  oil  was  struck  at  the 
depth  of  seventy  feet  —  to  be  followed  by  a  realization 
of  the  fables  of  the  good  old  days  of  Haroun  al  Rashid. 


There  once  was  a  king,  though  I  cannot  tell  when. 

Nor  where,  but  in  the  sea, 
With  a  crown  of  green  on  his  head  to  be  seen  — 

For  the  King  of  the  Kelp  was  he. 

And  a  king  of  might  was  the  King  of  the  Kelp, 

And  he  conquered  far  and  wide, 
Till  he  feared  not  the  form  of  the  stalking  Storm, 

Nor  the  toss  of  the  terrible  Tide. 


THE   SLAVE   OF    THE   LAMP.  22$ 

But  a  mightier  grew  in  the  air  on  the  land. 

And  swept  down  from  his  height, 
And,  in  a  cave  beneath  the  wave, 

Emprisooed  the  King  out  of  sight. 

And  there  he  lay  while  the  world  went  round. 

And  the  waters  rose  aiid  fell  — 
But  what  are  Time  and  Tide  to  him 

Thut  lies  in  the  depth  of  hell  — 

In  the  dungeon  vast  of  the  untold  past,  — 

In  the  overwhelming  night 
When  the  golden  sun  its  course  has  run, 

And  the  stars  have  lost  their  light ! 

Aye,  there  he  lay  and  groaned  a-nd  moaned, 

In  the  darkaess  of  the  grave . 
Till  he  swore  by  his  throne  that  for  light  alone, 

He  would  live  and  die  a  slave ! 

A  slave,  with  the  might  of  the  King  of  the  Kelp, 
Who  had  conquered  far  and  wide, 

Till  he  feared  not  the  form  of  the  stalking  Storm, 
Nor  the  toss  of  the  terrible  Tide. 

When  lo !  a  youth,  in  search  of  truth, 

Down  in  a  deep,  deep  well, 
Amazed  heard  the  royal  word 

Of  the  King  of  the  Kelp  in  hell. 

\Vhen  up  he  gat  to  secure  the  King 

With  a  chain,  with  clasp  and  clamp  ; 

But  he  nothing  could  find  wherewith  to  bind, 
Save  the  wick  of  his  midnight  lamp. 

But  the  King  of  the  Kelp  was  a  willing  slave, 
To  be  bound  with  the  cotton  coil ; 

When,  forthwith,  upon  the  royal  throne, 
He  seated  the  Prince  of  Oil ! 

The  Prince  of  Oil,  with  the  might  of  the  King 
Who  had  conquered  far  and  wide, 

Till  he  feared  not  the  form  of  the  stalking  Storm, 
Nor  the  toss  of  the  terrible  Tide. 


230  THE   SLAVE   OF    THE    LAMP. 


The  Prince  of  Oil,  with  his  crown  of  flame, 

And  his  sceptre  of  woven  wick, 
In  the  right  of  the  slave  released  from  the  grave 

And  the  rendering-out  of  Old  Nick. 

"Ho!  build  me  a  palace  of  marble  and  jet!'' 
The  Prince  to  the  slave-king  said  ; 

And  the  echoing  wor,d  was  scarcely  heard, 
Ere  the  roof  was  over  his  head ! 

"Now,  build  me  a  city  to  gird  it  about !"' 
And  ere  the  Prince  raised  his  eyes 

From  the  magical  page  of  the  eastern  sage, 
Which  he  read  in  a  modern  disguise  — 

A  city  appeared  in  the  sight  of  the  sun, 

As  ne'er  appeared  city  before, 
Unless  a  town  from  the  clouds  has  come  down 

In  a  tempest's  whirl  and  uproar  ! 

"  But  what  are  a  palace  and  town  to  a  king, 

Without  a  realm  to  sway?" 
When,  behold  !  with  the  thought  in  his  phantasy  wrought, 

A  kingdom  before  the  Prince  lay  ! 

"  A  kingdom  !  Baugh  !  "  said  the  Prince  in  disgust  : 
"  Let  my  realm  the  great  world  be ! " 

"Nay,"  quo'  the  slave;  "for  the  Prince  can  have 
But  the  might  of  the  King  of  the  Sea. 

"I  give  thee  all  that  I  gathered  on  earth. 

In  the  light  of  the  summer's  sun,  — 
I  give  thee  the  might  that  was  buried  in  night, 

And  emprisoned  for  ages  in  stone  — 

"  But  more,  I  cannot.     Now,  Prince,  beware, 

How  thou  spendest  the  coin  of  my  strength  ; 

For  none  can  help  the  King  of  the  Kelp, 
When  he  is  spent  at  length. 

"And  none  will  lend  the  Prince  to  spend, 
When  he  has  squandered  his  fee  — 

The  might  of  the  crown  and  the  sceptre  and  throne 
Of  the  King  of  the  Kelp  of  the  sea. 


MAID    OP    MAHONIXG.  231 


'•Thou  hast  the  magic  of  wealth  at  command, 

To  build,  to  barter,  to  buy; 
But  remember  the  quick  will  expire  with  the  wick  — 

The  Prince  with  his  slave  will  die  ! 

"Guard  well  thy  Lamp  of  Life,  0  youth, 

And  with  it  thy  royal  slave  ; 
For  his  kingdom  of  wealth  in  the  Oil  of thy  Health, 

Will  end  with  thy  wick  in  the  grave  ! 

u  Guard  well  thy  Lamp  of  Life,  0  youth, 

Thou  Prince,  by  right  of  birth ; 
For  the  wealth  of  the  Past  in  thy  being  amassed, 

Will  be  spent  with  thy  Slave  of  the  Earth  !  " 


MAID  OF  MAHONING. 


Maid  of  Mahoning,*  asleep  in  thy  bower ! 

Beauty  as  cold  as  if  chiseled  in  stone  — 
Or  as  the  colorless  wax-petaled  flowerf 

Drooping  in  dread  of  the  pine-forest's  moan  ; 
And  as  impassionate  !  Maid  of  Mahoning, 

Stilled  would  the  aspen  leaf  be  in  thy  breath  ; 
Hast  thou  no  moments  of  sighing  and  moaning  ? 

Art  in  the  Vale  of  the  Shadow  of  Death  ? 

Hark !     'tis  a    voice    from    the    lips,    that,  close- 
pressing, 

Oft  to  thine  own ,  behind  secresy's  veil, 
Glowing  with  rapture's  protracted  caressing, 

Measured  the  moments  of  bliss,  like  a  snail ! 
Know'st  thou  that  voice  in   the   wild  night*  im 
ploring  ? 

Yea,  though  the  tempest  and  torrent  combine  — 
Drowning  all  sounds  in  the   flood    of   their  roar 
ing  — 
Sleeping  or  waking,  that  voice  thou'dst  define  ! 

Maid  of  Mahoning,  a  faint  flush  is  creeping 
Over  thy  white  neck  and  over  thy  brow  ; 


INDECISION-. 


Crimson  thy  face  is  —  oh,  canst  thou  be  sleeping  ? 

Canst  in  thy  dreaming  again  hear  his  vow? 
Maid  of  Mahoning,  ah,  why  dost  thou  tremble, 

And    thy    breath    quicken  —  at    what    fond 

alarms? 
Cannot  the  heart  in  thy  bosom  dissemble  ? 

Sleeping  or  wakin-g,  wouldst  be  in  his  arms  ? 

Maid  of  Mahoning,  oh,  dream  on  forever  ; 

Web  after  web  weave  in  phantasy's  loom  ; 
Wake  no-t  to  wail  that  realities  sever  — 

Wake  not  to  weep  at  mortality's  tomb  ! 
Maid  of  Mahonin°:T  in  dreams  with  thy  lover, 

Limpet  thy  lips  in  a  soul-suctioned  kiss  ; 
Then  let  the  tide  of  time  rise  and  roll  over, 

Thou  wilt  en-angel  the  Spirit  of  Bliss  ! 


*  "The  next  spring,  we  moved  to  a  town  about  fif 
teen  miles  off,  called  Mo-ho-mng,  which  signifies  a 
Jick."—  McCullough. 

t  The  wax-pipe,  Monotropct  uniflora.  See  note  on 
page  192, 


INDECISION. 

With  every  waver  in  her  mind, 

A  quiver  in  my  heart,  I  find  ; 

My  faith  and  doubt  turn  with  her  thought 

"  I  love  her"  and  "  I  love  her  not !  " 

I  could  not  change  in  feeling  faster 

Were  I  divining  with  an  aster, 

And  felt  alternate  love  and  hate 

As  leaves  alternate  fixed  my  fate. 


ANOTHER. 


The  trout  in  the  transparent  stream 
Doth  like  the  pebbled  channel  seem  ; 
So  changeful  with  her  thoughts  I  prove 
Tell  me,  my  heart,  if  this  be  love  ? 


THE    DARE-DEVIL     TOUGH.  233 


THE  DARE-DEVIL   YOUGH. 


The  Yough  is  the  familiar  abbreviation  of  the 
Youghiogheny  —  an  aspirated  Ohio-gheny,  signifying, 
the  River  of  Blood.  When  the  following  lines  were 
written  in  1874,  and  set  to  music,  by  the  writer,  the  song, 
published  by  Knake  &  Co.,  of  Pittsburgh,  was  dedicated 
to  Mr.  H.  Clay  Frick,  of  Broadford  —  a  dedication  which 
I  beg  leave  here  to  renew  in  appreciation  of  the  sterling 
qualities  which  inspired  the  sentiment  of  the 
second  stanza  of  the  song. 

The  description,  in  the  first  stanza,  applies  to  the 
river  in  the  gap  of  the  Chestnut  Ridge,  below 
the  Ohio  Pyle  Falls. 


Where    the  bluff   Alleghanies    rise   rugged    and 
rough, 

And  fetters  and  bars  for  a  continent  forge. 
There  dashes  defiant  the  dare-devil  Yough, 

Through    rocky   ravine,  deep    dell,   and    grim 

gorge! 
To  this  river  I  drink  ;  for  akin  to  my  blood, 

Is  its  torrent  so  bold,  and  so  buoyant  and  free, 
Braving  bowlder  and  crag  with  impetuous  flood, 

As  onward  resistless  it  rolls  to  the  sea ! 

And   here's   to    the   man    with    a    will    like    the 

Yough  — 
A    will    that   would   wield  as   a    weapon    the 

world, 

Daring  all,  and  defying  even  Death  with  a  scoff, 
When  over  the  brink  of  decision  he's  hurled  ! 
Tis  the  man  that  I  love,  the  bold  and  the  brave, 

Converging  his  might  to  the  channel  of  aim  ; 
From  the  mountain   of   life   to   the  gulf   of   the 

grave, 

Rolling  on   like  the  Yough  to   the   ocean    of 
Fame! 

And  here's  to  the  woman  aflood  with  the  tide 
That  bursts  from  the  mountain-height's   foun 
tain  of  love, 


234  MONONOAHELA. 


On  whose  billow  the  barks  of  futurity  glide, 
Until  anchored  in  bliss  in  eternity's  cove  f 
'Tis  the  woman   I   love ;  and   the   free  bounding 

wave, 

That  breaks  in  the  course   of  my  hot,  throb 
bing  blood, 

Is  the  might  of  the  love  in  return  that  she  gave  — 
A  inisrht  that's  akin    to  the   Yough's  rushing 
flood  1 


MONONGAHELA. 


"The  word  Monongahela  is  said  to  signify,  in  some 
of  the  Indian  languages,  the  Falfing-in-Banks,  that  is, 
the  stream  of  the  Falling-in  or  Mouldering  Banks."—  H~ 
H.  Brackenridfie :  Pittsburgh  Gazette,  July  26,  1786.  The 
popular  synonym  or  translation  is,  however,  Old  Muddy 
Banks.  It  is  the  type  of  the  melancholic  —  the  "  dark 
ened  blood  "  of  the  song —  as  the  Dare-devil  Yough  is 
the  type  of  the  impetuous  and  determined.  The  poet, 
in  the  following  lines,  is  supposed  to  be  standing; 
upon  the  bank  of  the  river. 


MonongahelaTs  muddy  bank, 

When  mirrored  in  its  murky  flood, 
Is  not  as  sombre,  dull,  and  blank, 

As  shades  that  cross  my  darkened  blood  ! 
Ah,  woe  the  day  when  living  love, 

Incarnate  sunshine,  warmth,  and  light, 
An  image  without  life  should  prove  — 

The  phantom  of  a  dream  at  night ! 

The  sun  is  set ;  the  sky  o'ercast 

With  heavy  clouds,  low  hung  and  black  ; 
Monongahela's  ot  the  past, 

Engulfed  within  the  storm  and  rack ! 
But  deepest  night  and  darkest  storm, 

Their  gloom  combined,  cannot  efface 
The  faintest  image  of  her  form 

Reflected  in  a  conscious  glass ! 


THE   JEWELS    I    PRIZE.  235 

The  storm  is  o'er ;  the  clouds  are  riven  ; 

The  stars  rejoicing  glint  and  gleam  ; 
I  see  them  in  this  second  heaven, 

Monongahela's  murky  stream  ; 
But  io  the  mirror  of  my  mind, 

No  rays  of  hope  and  joy  are  shed  ; 
The  blue  eyes  of  the  shade  are  blind  — 

The  shade's  the  image  of  the  dead  ! 


THE  JEWELS  J  PRIZE. 


Let  the  miserly  hoard  up  their  symbols  of  self, 

Their  copper  and  silver  and  gold, 
Their  jewels  and  gems  —  base,  mineral  pelf, 

Inanimate,  senseless,  and  cold  ! 
But  to  me  give  the  treasures  of  life's  tidal  flood. 

Impassioned  and  sentient,  and  warm, 
That  burst  into  being  and  beauty  with  blood, 

In  woman,  life's  lovliest  form  ! 

To  me  give  the  jewels  of  mirth  and  delight, 

With  which  nothing  earthy  can  vie  — 
The  diamonds  that  flash  with  a  welcoming  light, 

And  gleam  in  a  fond  woman's  eye, 
To  me  give  the  jewels  of  gladness  and  bliss, 

The  heart's  fondly  found  treasure-trove 
The  rubies  that  flush  with  a  passionate  kiss. 

Instinctive,  responsive  to  love  ! 


And  the  golden  metal  called  precious  is  dross, 

When  compared  to  the  golden  net, 
Which  Nature  has  woven  of  light-flowing  floss, 

And  out  in  the  stream  of  life  set ; 
And  oh,  to  be  caught  in  that  golden  mesh, 

And  tangled  with  love's  deftest  art, 
To  feel  as  it  tightens  the  quivering  flesh, 

And  the  beat  of  a  fast  throbbing  heart ! 


236      LOVE'S  HOLY  GRACE. 


LOVE'S  HOLY  GRACE. 


The  eye  being  in  the  heart  and  not  in  the  head,  ( see 
page  197, )  there  is  nothing  more  beautiful  in  nature  to  -,\ 
lover  than  the  charms  of  the  object  beloved  —  nor  noth 
ing  more  common  than  to  sanctify  the  sins  of  one's 
commission  by  the  grace  of  organic  greed. 


Yes,  bright  be  the  dew  that  bespangles 

The  spider's  gauze  web  in  the  grass, 
Reflecting  the  dawn  as  it  dangles, 

In  its  fairy-formed,  globular  glass ; 
But  brighter  my  darling's  eye  beaming 

With  the  fire  of  a  lip-quiv'ring  kiss. 
Its  sparkles  a  galaxy  gleaming, 

Illuming  a  heaven  of  bliss. 

And  red  be  the  maple  buds*  breaking 

When  Spring  awakes  frost-nipped  at  dawn, 
When  ice-beaded  branches  are  shaking, 

And  showering  pearls  on  the  lawn : 
But  redder  my  darling's  cheek-blossom 

That  bursts  into  loveliest  charms, 
When  Winter  has  fled  from  her  bosom, 

And  Summer  has  come  in  my  arms ! 

And  pure  as  the  wave  of  the  fountain 

That  wells  in  the  moss-bosomed  nook. 
And  breaks  o;er  the  rocks  of  the  mountain. 

In  a  free,  joyous,  loud-laughing  brook  ; 
But  purer  the  blood,  though  it's  burning, 

That  thrills  in  my  lov'd  one's  embrace ; 
For  the  heart-throb  that  trembles  with  yearning 

Is  hallowed  by  love's  holy  grace ! 


*  The  red,  or  swamp  maple,  Acer  rubrum.  "  In 
spring,  the  appearance  of  the  tree  is  remarkable  for  the 
deep  crimson  flowers  with  which  it  is  thickly  clothed." 
—  Wood. 


OH,  1  WOULD  LOVE   YOU    ALWAY  1         237 


,'  I   WOULD   LOVE    YOU  ALWAY: 


Oh,  I  would  kiss  your  lips  —  your  Hps  - 

Oh,  I  would  kiss  your  lips  — 
When  warm  and  moist  in  the  morning  of  life. 
When  hot  and  parched  in  the  noonday  strife ; 
When  burnt  out  ashes  at  evening's  rest ; 
When  clammy  and  cold  as  the  clay  that  pressed 

In  the  raight  that  knows  no  dawn. 

And  I  would  look  in  your  eye  —  your  eye  — 
And  I  would  look  in  your  eye  — 

When  blue  and  bright  in  the  morning's  gleam  ; 

When  gray  and  dazed  in  the  midday's  beam ; 

When  red  and  ringed  in  the  gloaming's  light ; 

When  black  and  glazed  and  blind  in  the  night  — 
In  the  night  that  knows  no  dawn. 

Oh,  I  would  love  you  alway  —  alway  — 

Oh,  I  would  love  you  alway  — 
In  the  flash  of  life  of  the  maid  in  the  morn  , 
In  the  flush  of  noon  by  the  mother  borne ; 
In  the  shadow  of  grandmother's  eventide ; 
In  the  darkness  —  yea,  and  whatever  betide 

In  the  night  that  knows  no  dawn  ! 


THE  HEART  ENTOMBED. 


On  yonder  hill,  when  clothed  in  summer's'green. 

There's  but  a  leafy  thicket  to  be  seen  ; 

But  when  disrobed  by  winter,  and  laid  bare, 

A  grave's  white  head-stone  is  seen  standing  there. 

So  social  Mira  summers  to  a  blush, 
Leaves  to  a  smile  and  flowers  to  a  flush ; 
While,  sad  and  lonely,  she,  with  blighted  bloom, 
Sighs  for  the  dead  and  winters  to  a  tomb ! 


238  LOVING   AND    LONGING. 


LOVING  AND  LONGING. 


I've  seen  a  maiden  young  and  trim, 
Sit  down  alone  and  sigh  for  him  ; 
Day  after  day,  year  after  year, 
Until  her  eyes  grew  weak  and  blear  — 
Until  her  hair  grew  white  and  thin  — 
Until  her  bones  grew  thro'  her  skin  — 
Until  —  her  hope  did  not  forsake  her  - 
Her  corpse  embraced  an  undertaker  ! 

So  I  have  seen  a  tender  goose. 
To  quit  her  nesting  place  refuse, 
And,  in  a  hopeful  mother-mood, 
Upon  a  cold  potato  brood, 
Until  —  to  all  the  world  forgotten, 
And  the  potato  long  since  rotten  — 
She  was  too  weak  and  numb  to  move. 
And  died  in  the  fond  hope  of  love. 

Ah,  what  a  blessing  to  creation, 
A  loving  heart  and  expectation  ! 


THE  EYE  AND    THE  IMAGINATION. 


The  eye  lays  an  egg  — 

Imagination  hatches  it ; 
The  eye  bends  to  beg  — 

Imagination  snatches  it. 
The  eye  clothes  a  maid  — 

Imagination  strips  her ; 
The  eye  turns  afraid  — 

While  imagination  grips  her  ! 

AN  EPIGRAM. 


A  nose,  not  well  put  out  of  joint. 
Nor  long  in  coming  to  the  point. 


THE    DEMON    LOVER.  239 


THE  DEMON  LOVER. 


l^rom  ten,  when  she  kissed  her  fond  mother  good 
night, 

Until  twelve,  Isabel,  at  the  window,  has  sat. 
In  the  shaded  light's  gloom  of   a  still,  curtained 

room, 

When  lo !  through  the  casement  there  flutters 
a  bat ! 

A  bat,  in  a  suit  of  the  unseen  at  night, 

On  a  wing  of  the  silence  that  will  not  alarm, 

When   behold !    in   the   gloom   of   the  still,  cur 
tained  room, 
The  wing  of  the  bat  has  become  a  man's  arm  ! 

The  wing  of  the  bat  has  become  a  man's  arm, 
That  encircles  the  form  of  the  fond,  watching 

maid, 

In  a  silent  embrace  that  is  throbbing  and  warm, 
Till  a  hot  breath   has  left   and   lost  all   in   a 
shade ! 

But  behold !  the  bright  sun  of   midsummer   has 

risen, 
And  gone  with  the  bat  are  the  shades  of  the 

night ; 
K'en  the  mocking-bird  swings  in  its  bright  gilded 

prison, 
And  merrily  sings  in  unfeigned  delight ! 

But  thrice  has  the  breakfast  bell  rung  in  the  hall, 
Ere  Isabel  tremblingly  trips  down  the  stair, 

With  her  hand  on  the  baluster,  lest  she  may  fall, 
And  the  flower  of  yesterday  still  in  her  hair  ! 

"  My  daughter  !  my  daughter !  what  aileth  thee, 

tell? 

As  the  dead  thou  art  cold,  as  the  dead  thou  art 
white !  " 


'240  GRAVEYARD    GROTESQUES 


i;  0  mother  !  0  mother  !  I'm  happy  and  well  — 
I  have  seen  but  a  bat  in   lay   room    the   past 


night.'7 


"But  a  bat?"    "Yes,  a   bat."     "Only    that?" 

"Only  that." 
"Then  a  bat  let  it  be   and   thou    happy  and 

well ; 
But,  my  daughter,  beware,  lest  the  flower  m  thy 

hair, 

That   has   faded   o'er  night   be    not    burnt  — 
where  bats  dwell !  " 

Aye,  call  him  a  bat,  and  a  bat  he  becomes, 
As  many  old  fables  of  phantasy  tell : 

He  that  sucks  the  warm  blood  of  inflamed  maid 
enhood, 
Is  well  understood  in  the  Vampire  of  Hell ! 


GRAVEYARD  GROTESQUES. 


Since  graveyards  yawn,  why  may  they  not,  then, 

laugh, 

And  Epigram  poke  fun  at  Epitaph, 
Till  tombstones  hold  their  sides  with  bated  breath, 
And  smiles  sepulchral  wreathe  the  skull  of  Death  ! 


"  Tread  lightly  here  — "  Ah,  yes  ;  perhaps, 
Our  feet  are  shod  with  thorns ; 

Or  worse  than  that  —  Jehosophat ! 

The  corpse  may  be  covered  with  corns  ! 


"Here  lies  James  Hyer  — "    No  further  enquire, 

For  the  leopard  cannot 

Change  a  single  spot, 
And  no  more  can  his  nature,  a  liar ! 


GRAVEYARD   GROTESQUES.  241 

':  Here  rests  in  peace  Lewellyn  Rhees  — " 

I  prithee  read  no  more  ; 
For  leaving  life,  he  left  his  wife 

And  everlasting  war  ! 


"  Tread  lightly  here  — "  What  mockery  I 

Addressing  thyself  to  one 
Who  weighs  no  more  than  ninety-four, 

Thou  stone  that  weighest  a  ton  ! 


uShe  was  a  thrifty  wife — "  She  was,  indeed  ; 
I've  seen  her  in  her  hour  of  housewife  need, 
O'er  her  bare  legs  her  husband's  breeches  pull, 
And  comb  his  head  with  a  three-legged  stool ! 


"Remember,  man,  as  you  pass  by, 
As  you  are  now  so  once  was  I  — " 
Jake  Simpson,  you're  a  wicked  liar  j 
You  were  a  clerk,  while  I'm  a  'Squire  ! 


"  Tread  lightly,  stranger,  as  you  pass, 

For  Samuel  Greer 

Is  lying  here  — " 
Ah,  yes  ;  I  remember  his  left  eye  was  glass  ! 


"  Gone  to  meet  his  mother-in-law  — ' 
May  I  be  curst, 
But  that's  the  worst 

Of  Epitaphs  I  ever  saw  ! 


"  Here  lies  Jane  Brown  — "  Don't  speak  so  loud  — 

Lest  the  flirt  arise 

Lo  attract  your  eyes, 
By  waiving  the  tail  of  her  shroud ! 


His  model,  Beauty,  with  the  sculptor's  art, 
The  poet  shapes  the  marble  of  the  Heart. 


A    LETTER    TO    A    LADT. 


A  LETTER   TO  A  LADY. 


Nature  has  made  you,  Mary, 

To  be  by  thought  and  feeling  moved  ; 
Nature  has  made  you,  Mary,  woman, 

To  be  of  mankind  The  Beloved. 

But  Art  would  make  you,  Mary,  golden  — 

An  idol  in  your  form  attired, 
To  be  by  distant  eyes  beholden 

And  in-  their  staring  T.he  Admired. 

Nature  has  made  you,  Mary,  charming^ 
That  in  seclusion-  you  may   meet 

Attention  in  you  service  arming 
To  lay  Devotion  at  your  feet. 

But  art  would  make  you,  Mary,  dashii»gr 
That,  sex  defying,  you  might  move, 

And  hurlr  amid  your  thunder's  crashing, 
The  lightnings  of  a  mimic  Jove  ! 

Beware!  beware!  The  man  who  kneels 

Before  the  golden  calf  of  Art, 
Hypocrisy  alone  he  feels  — 

Else  he's  a  groveler  at  heart ! 

And  so  beware  the  man  who  falls 
Before  the  thunder-bolt  of  Art ; 

He  but  obeys  the  prompter's  calls, 
And  on  the  stage  plays  the  fool's  part, 

Be  Nature's  maiden,  Mary,  human, 
As  youth  and  health  and  beauty  can  ; 

And  learn  that  he  who  loves  a  woman, 
Loves  only  as  becomes  a  man. 

He  comes  —  he  wooes ;  but  that  alone 
Is  but  the  blowing  of  a  bubble  ; 

She  waits  —  receives ;  then  all  is  done  — 
Love  in  humanity  is  double. 


A    LETTER   TO    A    LADY. 


£>o,  step  by  gjtep.,xmark  his  advance, 

That  comes,  &$  it  becomes  a  true  man  — 

Impelled  by  feeling —  not  by  chance  — 
To  love  a s' in an  may  iove'a  woman. 

If  you  discern  aught  In  his  form 
That  clouds  futurity's  clear  skv  ; 

It  is  a  presage  of  a  storm  ; 

Take  heed  in  time  —  Let  him  pass  by. 

If  not,  and  he  comes  like  the  Sun 

Diffusing  round  him  warmth  and  light, 

Until,  his  course  through  winter  run, 

He  gleaming  climbs  the  vernal  height  — 

And  you,  another  earth,  receive  — 
Melting  from  formal  ice  and  snow, 

•Until  the  frosts  of  distrust  leave, 
And  violets  confiding  grow  — 

Remain  another  earth,  in  faith, 

That  Nature  doth  your  course  approve ; 
For  there's  no  Joshua  but  Death 

To  stay  the  climbing  Sun  of  love. 

And  Summer  will  as  surely  warm 
For  you  as  for  our  Mother  Earth  ; 

For  you  are  she  in  woman's  form 
Evolved  through  eonids  of  birth. 

Then,  Mary,  be  yourself,  the  creature 
Whom  Nature  hath  in  you  approved ; 

Incarnate  woman-earth  of  Nature, 
Be,  by  the  Sun  of  man,  beloved ! 

And  let  the  nameless  works  of  Art, 
In  man's  or  woman's  form  attired, 

Be  banished  from  your  head  and  heart 
To  the  cold  moon,  to  be  admired. 


244  TO   YOU,    MAN. 

TO    YOU,  MAN, 


When  the  lips  of  a  woman  — 
Be  she  lovely  and  wise  !  — 

Speak  falsely  to  you,  Man, 

With  the  blackguard,  she  lies. 

When  the  vow  of  a  woman  — 
Be  she  precious  in  pelf  1  — 

Is  broken  to  you,  Man, 
She  perjures  herself. 

When  the  kiss  of  a  woman  — 
Be  she  blushing  to  scarlet  I  — 

Is  envenomed  to  you,  Man, 
It's  the  kiss  of  a  harlot. 

When  the  soul  of  a  woman, 

In  selfishness  nursed* 
Is  deceitful  to  you,  Man, 

In  itself  it's  accursed. 

Then  bid  such  a  woman 

An  eternal  farewell, 
If  You  are  a  true  man, 

And  would  escape  hell ! 


TO 


When  the  storm  of  passion  pervades  the  heart, 
And  the  clouds  crash  together,  the  lightning  will 

dart : 

Perchance  to  slay,  with  a  dagger  of  light, 
The  babe  asleep  in  its  cradle  at  night ; 
Perchance  to  save,  like  a  beacon  of  heaven, 
The  tempest-tossed    ship  to  the    rock  of    wreck 

driven  I 

But,  believe,  in  the  calm  of  the  head  above, 
The  flash  of  the   Heart  has  been  forethought  by 

Love  ! 


LITERARY   HERMIT    CRABS.  245 


LITERARY  HERMIT  CRABS. 

There  fee  eke-certayne  enuite  crabbes  atnooge 
Ye  men-ae  of  letteres  who  iadyte  in  songe, 
And  lie  is  -of  them  who  wille  backe  ye  'breecl>e 
•Of  his  bare  witte  into  anofcheres  speeche  — 
Wrythe  in  ye  convolutions  of  rime, 
An  he  ye  poete  whelke  were  a  lie  ye  tyme  I 
But  Uodde  a  -mercye  onoe  hie  sillye  harte, 
He  is  swyche  only  m  his  hyndere  parte  ! 


There  a<re,  too,  certain  hermit  crabs  among 
The  men  of  letters  who  indite  a  song  ; 
And  he  is  of  them  who  will  back  the  breech 
'Of  his  bare  wit  into  another's  speech  — 
Writhe  in  the  convolutions  of  his  rhyme, 
As  if  he  were  the  poet  all  the  time  ! 
But  Ood  <have  mercy  on  his  simple  heart, 
He  is  si*ch  oely  in  his  hkder  part  1 


ASTRONOMICAL. 


Nay,  nay,  Leoore^  astronomy  is  not 
A  science  to  be  buried  and  forgot- 
It  hath  its  uses  —  to  define  a  kiss : 
A  shooting-star  across  the  sky  of  bliss  ; 
That  seems  a  star  of  love  to  youthful  eyes  ] 
But  is  a  meteor  uato  the  wise, 
That  differs  from  a  star  of  love  as  far 
As  dotfa  a  spark  from  an  eternal  star ! 


A  FOURTH  OF  JULY  ALTERNATIVE. 


Either  America's  eagle  on  high, 
In  the  blue  vault  of  empyrean  sky, 
Or  a  —  this  glorious  Fourth  of  July  — 
Musca  volens  in  a  bloodshotten  eye  ! 


246  THE   LAST   KISS  OF    LOVE. 


THE  LAST  KISS  OF  LOVE. 


Confound  it,  Kate,  Byron  "was  craizy, 
To  extol  so  the  first  kiss  of  love, 

Or  worse,  too  entolerably  lazy 

To  learn  what  comparisons  prove. 

The  first  kiss  of  love  t  —  what  is  in  it? 

No  matter  if  stolen  and  sweet, 
It  flashes  away  in  a  minute, 

And  you  cannot  the  first  kiss  repeat ! 

Why,  any  man,  Kate,  in  his  senses, 

Beginning  to  kiss  in  the  past, 
Continues  in  all  moods  and  tenses, 

And  reaches  ahead  for  the  last ! 

The  last  kiss  of  love's,  odd  or  even, 

The  number  that  can't  be  surpassed  — 

In  the  ladder  that  leads  up  to  heaven, 

Sure,  the  round  is  the  best  that  comes  last ! 


TO 


When  I  was  lost  in  melancholy's  night, 
With  naught  but  darkness  in  my  staring  sight, 
Afar  the  music  of  your  voice  1  heard  — 
And  lo  !  a  star  appeared  with  every  word  ! 
Until,  I  stood  beneath  a  gleaming  throng  — 
In  the  soft  light  of  heaven  —  in  your  song ! 


ON  A  RINGING  BELL. 


Ah,  the  heartless,  cold,  indifferent  bell ! 
With  loud-tongued  clangor  ringing  as  well 
A  wedding  chime  as  a  doleful  knell  — 
Ding  !    dong  !    ding   to   heaven  !    ding  !   dong ! 
ding  to  hell ! 


LOVE'S  RULE  OF  THREE.        247 


LOVE' &  RULE  OF  THREE. 

The  time  —  whenever  it  is  dark  is  best  for  speedy 

wooing ; 
For  many,  when  they  cannot  see,  don't  know  what 

they  are  doing. 

The  place  —  wherever  none  but  two  can  either 

see  or  hear, 
Without  a  lantern  in  the  hand  or  trumpet  to  the 

ear. 

The  circumstance  —  a  bit  of  wood  with,  at  one 

end  and  other, 
Phosphoric  mixture  and  mere  force,  and  nothing 

near  to  smother. 


FATE. 


Ah,  who  can  fathom  the  depth  of  Fate? 

Two  girls  part  at  the  college  gate  — 

Two  girls  with  kindred  heart  and  soul, 

Like  two  trees  with  a  common  bole,  — 

As  like  as  twins,  their  chances  even 

For  life  on  earth  or  love  in  heaven  ; 

And  yet  before  a  twelve-month  flies 

The  one  is  wed,  the  other  —  dies  ! 

The  clock  strikes  east  and  the  clock  strikes  west 

The"  one  is  happy,  the  other  blest ! 

Eleven  —  twelve  !  — -  the  nuptial  kiss  ; 

Eleven  —  twelve !  —  eternal  bliss  1 

The  bride  of  Life  and  the  bride  of  Death  — 

The  one  bound  with  an  orange  wreath, 

The  other  crowned  with  immortelle  ! 

While,  ding !  ding  ! 

The  church-bells  ring 
A  wedding-chime  and  a  woeful  knell ! 


248' 


TO  A  SILKWORM. 


Spin,  spis,  thou  silk-reelisg  woriar 

For  our  lady  another  thread r 
That  a  gown  may  thrill  to  encircle  her  forai>r 

When  thora  art  forgotten  and  dead. 

Sin-g,  sing,  O  importunate  veieer 

For  our  lady  another  strain, 
That  an  echo  may  live  in  her  soul  and*  rejoiee^ 

When  thou  art  heard  aever  again  !. 


HER  CHARACTER. 


She  wasr  ID  eveyythiog  she  said   and   didr  bufe 

human  — 
Her   vice  and    virtue  io   these   two   lines  yoia 

may  scan  : 

As  false  as  only  woman  can  be  false  to  woma»r 
And  true  as  only  woman  cao  be  trite 


KA  TY-D1D. 


Aye,  Katy  did  a»d   kindlyr 
As  alone  a  woman  can, 

In  her  innocence  love  bliadly7 
A  wicked,  worthless  man. 


DESPAIR. 


Ah,  yes;    I  have  lived:  I  have  loved  and  have 

lost ! 
The  earth  is  but  ashes  and  I  am  a  ghost ! 


Rhymes  and  jingles, 
Jingles  and  rhymes, 

Till  the  ear  tingles 
And  aches  betimes. 


ONCE,    AND    ONCE    ONLY.  249 

ONCE,  AND  ONCE  ONLY. 


He  that  sees  the  same  object  twice,  is  blind  in  the 

second  seeing ; 
He  that  lives  the  same  moment  again,  is  dead  for 

thu  instant  being. 

He  that    breathes  the  same  air  twice,    breathes 

bane  in  the  second  breath  ; 
Opposing,  the  new  is  the  habit  of  life,  the  old   is 

the  habit  of  death. 

Earth  is  ubiquity  changeful  to  man,  in  season,  in 

weather  and  sky  \ 
Else  with  repeated  sensations  of  same,  he'd  weary, 

then  madden,  and  die. 

Wouldst  thou  have  proof,  to  the  dungeon  cell  go, 

the  waste  of  the  desert  or  sea, 
Or  in  thy  bed  lie  awake  in  the  night,  and  one 

sound  and  sight  hear  and  see. 

If  thou,  Philosopher,  wouldst   live,  indeed,  the 

highest  existence  on  earth, 
Let  no  sensation  —  or  feeling  or  thought  —  have 

in  thee  a  second  birth. 

If  thou,  fond  Lover,  wouldst  climb  to  love's  height, 

repeat  not  a  step  of  thy  bliss, 
But,  to  a  mile-dream  prolong  every  thought  —  to 

a  thousand  leagues  a  kiss. 

Once,  only  once  in  love's  passion  embrace,  then 
nobly  —  most  gloriously  die, 

Pinnacled  on  the  most  heavenly  height  in  human 
ity's  rapturous  sky ! 

Or  live,  to  totter  down,  step  after  step,  decaying 

in  pace  with  thy  lust, 
Till  at  the  foot,  thou  art  laid  out  a  corse  —  a 

stench  amid  rottenest  dust ! 


250  THE    VOICE   OF  THE   ANVIL. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  ANVIL. 


Aye,  a  merry  old  man  am  I  — 

And  a  wink  is  as  good  as  a  nod  — 
I  ne'er  let  the  rust  eat  into  my  trust 

In  my  anvil  and  my  God  ! 
Though  in  the  grave  are  my  wife  and  child. 

And  I  am  the  last  of  my  clan, 
Yet  my  heart  is  light  from  morning  till  night 

In  doing  the  best  that  I  can. 
I  work  away  from  day  to  day, 
And  while  I  work  to  God  I  pray  ; 
With  my  iron  anvil's  voice, 
I  worship  and  rejoice. 

Aye,  a  merry  old  man  am  I, 

While  I  hear  my  anvil  ring 
In  sweet  accord,  while  to  the  Lord 

I  work  away  and  sing  — 
Sing  in  the  trust  of  my  anvil  and  God, 

From  morning  until  even, 
That  the  voice  of  mirth  once  beloved  on  earth, 

May  still  be  heard  in  heaven  ! 
Until  I  moulder  into  dust, 
And  my  old  anvil  turns  to  rust, 
When,  among  the  loved  and  blest, 
I  shall  forever  r<jst. 


—  1804  — 

i 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  WEEPING 
WILLOW. 


The  dates  prefixed  to  this  and  succeeding  poems  in 
this  volume  indicate  the  years  in  which  they  were  writ 
ten,  in  order  that,  if  read  aright,  the  Reader  may  see  the 
growth  of  the  writer  as  his  environment  enlarged  with 
his  years,  or  its  centre,  shifting  with  himself  in  his 
travels  in  the  light  of  the  sun  among  the  living  and  in 
the  light  of  his  lamp  among  the  dead,  involved  impres- 


THE    WEEPING -WILLOW.  251 


sions  forei-gn  to  the  Little  World  of  Southwestern  Penn 
sylvania,  an  expression  of  which  through  one  of  its 
growths  this  book  purports  to  be. 


The  weeping-willow,  to  which  the  legend  refers, 
«ince  the  publication  ot  the  poem  in  1864,  has  fallen  be 
fore  the  axe.  It  .stood  at  the  spring  on  the  Salem  road, 
half  a  mile  north  of  Greensburg.  And,  as  if  to  turn 
the  whole  subject  topsy-turvy  —  i.  e.,  as  Grose  will  have 
it,  topside-turfways  —  while  the  tree  is  among  the  things 
that  were,  the  heroine  is  living  still ;  and  the  hero,  in 
stead  of  being  a  soldier  in  the  war  of  1812,  was,  in  reali 
ty  a  sailor  —  that  is,  he  drove  a  mule  on  the  "raging 
•canawl  "  in  the  service  of  the  Old  State  Robber,  and  the 
only  battle  in  which  he  engaged  was  one  with  his  team 
on  the  towpath  in  which  he  was  slain  by  a  movement 
in  the  rear  of  the  enemy  !  But  thus  it  has  been  ever 
with  poesy  and  prose! 


The  maple  leaves  were  weaving  shrouds 

Of  colors  bright  and  gay, 
From  Autumn's  gold  and  purple  clouds 

That  deck  the  dying  day. 


When  down  the  way  a  lady  fair 

Rode  merrily  with  me ; 
Whilst  loosely  hung  her  auburn  hair 

From  ribband  fetters  free. 


Near  Fanny's  Wood,  then  as  we  rode. 

The  lady,  pointing,  said, 
"  See  yonder  willow  by  the  wood 

That  weeping,  bows  its  head  ! " 


*'  Yes,"  answer' d  I.     Continued  she, 

"A  legend  touching,  true, 
Has  made  the  same  tree  dear  to  me  — 

Would  like  it  told  to  you?" 


252  THE   WEEPING-WILLOW. 


"  Yes;  thanks.     A  tale  but  told  by  you 

Was  ever  dear  to  me.1' 
She,  sighing,  told  this  Legend  trae 

Of  the  Weeping  Willow-tree. 


When,  two  and  fifty  years  ago,  (1812) 

The  fearful  tocsin  rung, 
War  !  war  !  against  an  English  foe, 

To  right  our  country's  wrong ! 

' 
A  soldier,  young  and  gallant,  rode 

To  bid  a  last  adieu 
To  one  who  dwelt  withio  this  wood, 

A  maid,  his  sweetheart  true. 

Down  yonder  hill,  with  slackened  rein, 

His  way  he  sadly  led ; 
The  horse  partook  his  master's  pain 

Aud  lowly  hung  his  head. 

A  lithe  and  slender  willow  wand  — 

The  rider's  only  goad  — 
Hung  loosely  in  the  soldier's  hand 

As  on  he  slowly  rode. 

And  as  he  passed  this  flowing  spring, 

He  startled  at  a  sound,  — 
He  heard  his  loved  one  sweetly  sing,  — 

The  switch  fell  to  the  ground. 

To  yonder  oak  the  horse  was  tied  ; 

The  rod,  unthought-of,  lay 
Till  found  by  the  intended  bride, 

And  waves  this  tree  to-day.* 


"  Farewell.     Within  the  coming  year, 

If  then  the  Briton's  fled, 
I'll  come  again  to  thee,  my  dear, 

If  not,  believe  me  dead. 


THE   WEEPING- WILLOW. 


•"A  soldier  idly  spoaks  of  death, 

Then  start  not  at  the  name  ; 
With  him  'tis  but  an  empty  breath, 

Another  word  for  fame. 

^  But  if  I  live  —  a  happy  life, 

Return  I  then  to  lead, 
To  live,  to  love,  with  thee,  my  wife  —  n 

Her  thought  of  death  was  fled. 

For  trT  hope  of  love  dreams  not  of  -death  r 

Of  happiness  alone  ; 
It  twines  not  in  its  flowery  wreatta 

The  weed  of  deadly  tone. 


Her  eyes,  though  tearful,  quickly 
With  inward  love-  warmth  true: 

The  rose-bud  sparkling  in  the  sun 
W<hen  wet  with  morning's  dew. 

44  Then  fare  thee  well.     A  woman's  love 
Hopes,  prays  the  same  «jome  true, 

Yes,  nightly.  prays  to  Him  above 
To  keep  from  danger  you. 

"  A  year,  though  long  the  time  it  seems, 

And  much  of  sorrow  brings, 
Yet,  happy  thoughts  and  happy  dreams 

Will  lend  it  swiftest  wings. 

"And  if,  forsooth,  you  come  not  then  ? 

See  yonder  ivy  spread 
Its  leaves  so  fresh  and  green,  e'en  when 

The  oak  it  clings  to's  dead.  " 

"  A  noble  vow,"  the  soldier  said, 
"Of  faithful  love  out-spoken; 

To  keep  my  heart  from  fear  and  dread 
I  need  no  other  token. 

'"Twill  cheer  me  when  the  winter's  blast 
Blows  chilly  through  the  camp, 

And  warm  the  sod  on  which  I'm  cast 
Though  deadly  cold  and  damp. 


254  THE    WEEPING  WILLOW. 

"The  stormy  wind  its  force  has  sped. 

The  winter  frost's  no  harm, 
The  frozen  ground's  a  downy  bed, 

When  all  within  is  warm. 

"A  iarewell  kiss  of  love?  —  one  more? 

Oh,  had  some  Indian  drug 
Prolonged  that  bliss  forever  more, 

No  other  Heaven  I'd  beg. " 


Many  years  their  flight  had  ta'en : 
The  Briton  long  had  fled  : 

Yet,  came  the  soldier  not  again, 
For  he  was  with  the  dead. 

The  faithful  maid  yet  knew  this  not, 
And  still  her  dreams  were  bright : 

The  day  of  hopeful  woman's  thought 
Has  neither  cloud  nor  night. 

And  upward  looked  the  maid  to  God, 
As  the  dead  her  heart  still  kept ; 

And  upward  grew  the  willow  rod 
And  drooped  its  head  and  wept. 

And  now  this  willow  weeps  above 
The  maiden's  lonely  grave, 

An  emblem  of  her  faithful  love,  — 
And  long  such  may  it  wave. 


An  honest  tear  for  the  faithful  maid 
Came  trickling  down  my  cheek. 

When  'neath  the  weeping-willow's  shade 
The  lady  ceased  to  speak. 


*  A  branch  of  the  weeping-willow,  ScdixBabylonica, 
when  stuck  into  moist  soil  will  take  root  and  grow  into 
a  tree :  each  branch  of  a  tree  being  in  fact  a  tree  in  it 
self  at  a  certain  stage  of  development. 


THE    LOVE-LORN    LADY'g   LAMENT.        255 


—  1866  — 

THE  LOVE-LORN  LADY'S  LAMENT. 


Involving  the  writer's  surroundings  while  pursuing 
the  study  of  conchology  at  Washington  City:  the  song 
itself  being  the  result  of  association  with  singers 
of  similar  ballads. 

Attracting  the  attention  of  Col.  Robert  Morrow,  one 
of  the  Secretaries  of  the  President,  Hon.  Andrew  John 
son,  this  poem  led  to  an  intimacy  which  resulted  in  a 
joint  production,  a  drama,  entitled,  "At  Twelve 
O'Clock,"  the  initial  point  of  which  being  the  sentiment 
of  the  song.  In  1874,  the  writer  amplified  this  drama  in 
his  Christmas  story.  "Zomara:  A  Romance  of  Spain." 


I  saunter  on  the  sandy  shore, 

Where  the  waves  seemed  merry  girls, 
Bedecking  themsel's  with  seaweed  and  shells, 

And  flowers  of  foam  in  their  curls ; 
Where  now  I  see  in  the  foam  a  shroud, 

As  if  tossed  on  eternity's  bed, 
And  hear  a  moan  from  the  depths  unknown  — 

Alas  !  he  is  dead  !  he  is  dead  ! 

I  wander  through  the  wooded  glen, 

Where  Nature  seemed  a  child, 
That  prattled  among  the  birds  in  song, 

And  in  the  flow'rets  smiled  ; 
Where  now  the  deadly  nightshade  grows, 

And  the  owl  echoes,  over  head, 
The  clods'  mournful  sound  as  «"<*  fel1  in  the  ground  — 

Alas  !  o'er  the  dead  !  o'er  the  dead  ! 

Ah  !  there  is  no  beauty  again  to  the  eye 

That  bedews  a  lover's  mould, 
And  no  more  music  again  to  the  ear 

That  has  heard  a  lover  knolled ; 
When  the  heartstrings  are  struok  by  ae  Harper of  Death, 

And  the  soul  to  the  discord  is  wed, 
The  head  and  the  heart  are  forever  apart  — 

Alas  !  he  is  dead  !  he  is  dead  ! 


THE    REBUKE    OF  THE   SAGE. 


THE  REBUKE  OF  THE  SAGE. 


Involving  the  writer's  access  to  the  Oriental  IHerr* 
tare  contained  in  the  Library  of  Congress,  and  the  ex 
perience  of  a  voyage  on  the  Atlantic  —  a  storm  off  Cape- 
Hatteras  —  and  the  sight  of  the  sparkling  of  the  sefs 
-with  its  teeming  billions  of  animaliculav 


'c  Within  this  book  the  universe  is  planned, 
Eead  it,  if  ye  the  whole  would'st  understand  1  'r 
Cried  out  the  boastful  Spirit  of  the  Age 
Unto  the  hoary-headed  Hindoo  Sage, 


SAGE. 


"From  this  bold   crag,  what,  seest   thou  in   the 
ocean  ?  " 

SPIRIT, 

;tl  see  naught  but  the  waves  in  wild  commotion. 
Their    upreayed    ragged    crests    snow-white    and 

bright 
With  a  strange,  lustrous,  phosphorescent  light. >r 

SAGE, 

';  Look  up,  DOW,  into  the  ^reat  vault  of  heaven  ?  " 

SPIRIT. 

UI  see  the  stars  —  the  Crowu,  the  Polar  Seven, 
The  Pleiades,  and  that  broad  band  of  light, 
The  Milky  Way,  across  the  brow  of  night." 

SAGE. 

"  Presumptuous  man,  and  would'st  thou  bid   me 

look 

Within  the  narrow  compass  of  thy  book, 
To  know  the  universe,  its  moving  cause, 
Its  ultimate  design  and  governing  laws ; 


THE    TWO    TOWERS.  257 

"When,  'twixt  a  inite  and  world,  thy  piercing  eye 
The  smallest  difference  cannot  descry  ; 
When  to  thy  keen  discriminating  sight, 
In  myriads  they  both  appear  as  light ! 

"Go,  take  a  drop  of  ocean's  sparkling  brine. 
And  make  its  hidden  secrets  wholly  thine, 
And  thou  hast,  of  the  universal  plan, 
Learned  more  than  ever  yet  has  vain,  vain  man, 

"Write  down  the  individual  alone, 
Before  the  sum  of  the  Unknown  and  Known  ; 
The  Known  Finite  will  tell  whenever  writ 
All  knowledge  of  the  Unknown  Infinite." 


—  1871  — 
THE  TWO  TOWERS. 

AN    ALLEGORY   OF   WINTER   AND    AGE. 


Removing  from  Washington  City  to  his  native  place, 
Greensburg,  the  phenomena  of  the  severer  winters  of 
Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  in  comparison  with  those 
of  the  District  of  Columbia  had  their  effect  upon  the 
writer,  as  the  following  contrasts  will  exhibit. 


I. 
THE  TOWER  OF  FIRE. 


Stern  Winter  lifts  his  heavy  hand  ! 

His  brow  a  scowl 

In  the  lowering  cloud  ; 

His  voice  a  howl, 

Wild,  high  and  loud, 

In  the  storm  that  sweeps  over  the  land  — 

Over  the  hilltop,  and  over  the  heath, 

Giving  to  every  cranny  a  breath 

To  mimic  the  wail  of  woe  unto  Death. 

The  timid  leaves,  at  the  first  faint  sound. 
Fly,  fluttering,  helpless,  to  the  ground, 


258  THE    TWO    TOWEES. 


And,  for  shelter,  look 

Into  every  nook, 

Even  into  the  watery  wards  of  the  brook. 

The  lordly  oak  and  the  lowly  bramble 

Together  tremble  ; 

And  the  lapped  up  lake  aod  the  burly  river 

Quake  and  quiver, 

Shudder  and  shiver. 

Flown  are  the  warblers  of  holm  and  hedge  ; 

And,  a  living  wedge 

To  the  warm  South  driven, 

Flock  after 'flock  of  geese*  has  riven 

The  troubled  heaven. 

Withered  and  wind-strewn  are  weed  and  flower  ; 

E'en  the  thistle,f  bold 

In  his  stronghold  — 

His  thorny  castle  and  prickly  tower, 

Has  lost  the  ruddy  glow  of  his  face, 

Shrank  to  a  ghost, 

And  wanders  about  like  a  spirit  lost, 

Wind  and  storm  tossed, 

Anywhere  — 

A  flitting  flake  of  the  pallor  of  fear 

Blindly  seeking  a  resting  place. 

And  Man,  who  alone  wields  the  weapon  of  wit  — 

Who  saddles  and  bridles  the  ocean  horse, 

And  with  steam  for  a  spur,  a  compass  a  bit, 

Rides  where  he  lists  on  the  wide-world  course  ; 

Who  yokes  the  oxen  of  water  and  wind, 

His  corn  to  grind  ; 

Who  changes  the  dart,  by  the  lightning  hurled, 

To  a  carrier-dove ; 

Who  soars,  on  the  pinions  of  gas,  above 

The  woe  and  the  wail  of  a  wicked  world, 

To  that  good  and  happy  land  of  love, 

Where  holy  spirits  are  feigned  to  move, — 

Even  Man,  the  bold, 

Grows  chill  and  cold, 


THE    TWO    TOWERS.  259 

When  Winter  uplifts  his  heavy  hand, — 

When  his  scowl 

And  his  howl 

Darken  and  deafen  the  'frighted  land, — 

Even  Man,  the  bold, 

Grows  chill  and  cold, 

Tn  dread  of  stern  Winter's  icy  ire, 

And  bolts  and  bars  his  main  stronghold, 

His  TOWER  OP  FIRE! 


Stern  Winter  has  struck  with  a  heavy  hand  ! 

Frozen  and  numb, 

Palsied  and  dumb, 

Stark  and  stiff  a  corpse  lies  the  land ! 

The  pallor  of  snow  is  over  all, 

And  icicles  tassel  the  funeral  pall. 

Congealed  is  the  blood  of  river  and  lake. 
Yet  hark  !  from  the  depths  profound, 
Where  Winter  can  neither  strike  nor  wound, 
You  can  hear  the  billows'  surge  — 
A  coronach  wild,  a  dismal  dirge, 
At  the  dead  land's  wake. 

Now,  where  is  Man, 

Who  dares  the  demons  and  devils  of  nature 

As  no  other  creature 

Can? 

Unscathed,  unscarred, 

By  Winter's  blow, 

Dealt  heavy  and  hard 

With  shot  and  shell  of  ice  and  snow, 

Aloft  he  stands  in  his  Tower  of  Fire; 

And  the  terrible  ire 

Of  Winter  dire, 

The  little  hero  now  dares  to  defy. 

You  can  read  these  words  in  his  flaming  eye, 

"  I'll  conquer  thee  yet  before  I  die ; 

This  Tower  shall  be  thy  funeral  pyre  !  " 

The  worldly  reel  turns  round  and  round, 


260  THE    TWO    TOWERS. 


The  yarn  of  time  is  wound  and  wound, 
Till  a  six-months'  hank  is  run  ; 
When  lo  !  the  Sun, 
In  a  blue  and  balmy  midday  sky, 
Stands  high ! 

And  Winter  has  gone  and  Summer  come  ! 

No  icy  daggers  on  cottage  eaves, 

But  nourishing  rain  in  gentle  showers ; 

No  midnight  hoar-frost  skeleton-leaves  ; 

But  bright  and  blooming  noonday  flowers ; 

And  the  tempest  drum 

And  the  wild  wind  fife, 

That  led  stern  Winter  to  war  and  strife, 

Are  drowned  in  the  brown  bee's  peaceful   hum 

And  Death,  perforce, 

Himself  is  a  corse, 

For  all  is  aglow  with  the  lustre  of  life  ! 

And  the  death  of  the  land, 

By  a  blow  of  stern  Winter's  heavy  hand, 

A  fiction  —  a  dream  — 

A  poet's  theme ! 


Nought  but  a  fiction  —  a  dream  — 

A  poet's  theme : 

Yet  such  things  may  fall  in  the  scales  of  the  mind, 

And  kick  the  beam 

To  good  or  evil : 

Less,  by  far, 

Can  make  or  mar 

A  golden  harvest  to  rustic  hind  — 

Rain-drop  or  weevil !  J 

For  though  the  Mind 

Is  a  wizard  king, 

To  draw  in  the  skull  his  magic  ring, 

And  raise  the  spirits  of  water  and  wind  — 

Kelpie,  goblin  and  ghost, 

Aye,  and  the  genii  of  earth's  dark  caves. 

And  the  fiends  of  fire  — 


THE    TWO    TOWERS.  261 


A  host 

Of  willing,  abject,  able  slaves, 

To  make  a  deed  of  their. master's  desire; 

Yet  it  seldom  can  rule  that  little  elf, 

Itself; 

But,  with  nimble  motion, 

At  the  prick  of  a  whim,  or  the  spur  of  a  notion, 

It  turns  it  about,  with  supple  joints, 

To  one  or  the  other  cardinal  points 

Of  the  moralist's  compass,  good  or  evil, 

God  or  Devil. 

II. 

THE  TO  WER  OF  PR  A  YER. 


Age,  like  a  dancing  fay, 

Tiptoed  lightly  from  day  to  day  — 

The  stepping  stones  laid  in  the  stream  of  time  ; 

And  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  fell 

Like  the  faintest  notes  of  a  distant  bell 

Ringing  an  evening's  chime. 

Yet,  step  by  step  he  grew 

In  size  and  strength,  till  every  thew 

Was  hard  and  stiff  as  the  archer's  yew ; 

And  from  a  child, 

With  manners  mild, 

He  waxed  wrathful,  warlike,  and  wild. 

And  still,  unheeded  he  stalked  by  the  side 

Of  Man  in  the  height  of  a  victor's  pride. 

Till  lo  !  looming  up  like  a  tower  on  high, 

Or  Brocken  spectre  ||  against  the  sky, 

Before  his  victim  he  takes  a  stand, 

And  raises  a  stern  and  heavy  hand  ! 

The  Eye  that  shone  like  the  sun  of  Spring, 

High  overhead, 

As  a  waning  moon  now  glimmers  through 

A  lurid  brugh  — § 

A  halo  crimson,  a  circle  red, 

The  shadow  of  Age's  signet  ring. 


262  THE    TWO    TOWERS. 

The  Ear  that  rang  with  the  laughter  of  youth. 

And  garnered  the  lessons  of  wisdom  and  truth  ; 

That  treasured  the  accents  of  friendship  and  love, 

And  grew  spell-bound 

At  the  magical  sound 

Of  the  song-sorceress  of  the  grove ; 

That  gladdened 

At  the  wedding  of  music  of  lute  and  guitar, 

And  maddened 

At  the  fearful  alarm-bell,  the  tocsin  of  war ; 

Now  strives  in  vain  its  door  to  unlock, 

When  words  —  old  friends  and  old  neighbors  — 

knock  ; 

Strives  in  vain,  though  a  helping  hand 
Be  hollowed,  and  at  its  elbow  stand. 
For  Age  has  gnawed,  with  the  brown  tooth  of  rust, 
The  latch, 

The  spring,  the  bolt,  the  ward,  and  the  catch, 
Filled  the  keyhole  with  dust, 
And  cast 
The  key 

Into  the  dark  sea 
Of  the  past ! 

The  Voice,  that  defied  the  tempest's  wrath 

With  a  scoff, 

Now  gasps  for  breath, 

And  in  whispering  slippers  shuffles  after 

A  harsh,  dry  cough  — 

Age's  demoniac  laughter. 

The  Back,  Man's  proud  totemic^f  sign, 

That  towered  erect  as  a  mountain  pine, 

Now  droops 

And  bends  and  stoops, 

Till,  in  the  brook's 

Still  mirror,  it  looks 

Like  the  curved  scythe 

With  which  Old  Time,  like  a  mower  blithe. 

Cuts  ever  and  ever  his  world-wide  swath. 


THE    TWO    TOWERS.  263 


The  brawny  Arm  and  the  sinewy  Leg 

Assistance  beg 

Of  each  other, 

And  give  it  like  brother  to  brother. 

The  leg  on  its  knee  rests  the  feeble  hand  ; 

And  when  the  legs  in  turn  aid  crave 

To  walk,  or  stand, 

The  hand,  of  the  burden  takes  the  half, 

With  a  staff  — 

The  finger  of  Age  that  points  to  the  grave ! 

The  Heart,  deep-rooted  in  Christian  soil, 

That  grew  like  Norway's  sturdy  pine, 

With  arms  reaching  far  and  wide 

On  every  side 

In  the  happiness,  welfare,  and  life, 

Of  cherished  children  and  worshipped  wife ; 

Till  mankind,  weary  of  sorrow  and  toil, 

To  rest  in  its  shade  would  calmly  recline, 

And  point  to  the  top  towering  high  above. 

To  index  the  way  to  the  land  of  love ; 

Now,  lopped  of  its  limbs,  since  daughter  and  son, 

And  wife  are  gone 

To  the  grave, 

It  sways  to  arid  fro  in  the  cold  world's  blast, 

Like  a  man-of-war's  mast 

Battle-scarred, 

Blackened,  charred,, 

Unrigged  and  unsparred, 

Forsaken  and  shunned  and  dreaded  by  all ; 

For  in  its  fall 

To  the  parting  deck, 

Is  wreck, 

And  death  beneath  the  wave  ! 

Squandered  long  since  are  Youth's  treasures 

On  tops  and  toys 

Of  sports  and  joys, 

And  rattling  baubles  of  pleasures ; 

And  squandered  long  since  the  wealth 

Of  Manhood's  health, 


264  THE    TWO    TOWERS. 


On  crowns  of  ambition  and  laurels  of  fame. 

On  ribbons  of  praise  and  the  scroll  of  a  name, 

On  trinkets  of  vanity,  feathers  of  pride, 

And  on  hobbies  of  whim  and  opinion  to  ride. 

But  what !  can  the  spendthrift  Jew 

Spend  all  his  silver  and  gold, 

That  Age,  the  inquisitor  old, 

Cannot  get 

A  guinea  or  two  from  the  heretic  yet? 

No. 

Then  go, 

And  draw  one  by  one  the  teeth  by  decay, 

And  in  each  foul  socket  a  hot  coal  lay ; 

On  the  thumb  put  the  torturing  screw ; 

On  the  ankle  and  foot 

Wedge  the  tight  Spanish  boot ; 

And  break 

The  arms  and  the  legs  on  the  wheel  of  ache  ; 

And  straighten  yon  ugly,  crooked  back 

On  the  rack  ; 

And  on  each  great  toe 

Grive  a  blow 

With  agony's  crudest  weapon,  the  knout 

Of  gout ; 

Then,  then  must  the  miser  his  hoarded  pell 

Of  strength  and  endurance  discover, 

And  eke  out  the  mangled  mass  of  himself 

Till  the  very  last  coin  is  paid  over  ! 

If  he  die,  if  he  do  not,  all's  well  — 

A  territion**  'twill  be  of  the  torments  of  hell ! 

But  surely  the  Mind  of  Man 

Still  looms  like  El  Capitan, 

A  mountain  rock  in  its  firmness  grand, 

Though  Age  before  it  will  stand, 

And  point  with  his  heavy  hand, 

To  the  great  Yosemite  canon  of  death 

Yawning  a  thousand  fathoms  beneath  ! 

Ah,  no !  Its  mountain  base 

By  the  earthquake  of  fear's  rent  asunder ; 

And  its  face 


THE    TWO    TOWERS.  265 


Is  black  with  the  dark  clouds  of  doubt  — 

The  lightning  of  hope  darting  in  and  out, 

And  despair  rolling  after  in  thunder ! 

And  in  the  deep  canon  of  death, 

That  yawns  beneath, 

The  magic  mirage  unrolls  the  weird 

Panorama  of  all  that  on  earth  is  feared, 

Now  magnified  and  distorted  by  fancy, 

The  mind's  self-deceiving  necromancy. 

Here  hells  are  depicted  in  every  hue, 

And  unrolled  to  the  view, 

Where  fire  and  water,  earth  and  air, 

In  all  their  awful  forms  appear ; 

And  even  a  round 

Of  life,  for  a  sinful  soul  is  found, 

Through  the  hideous  forms 

Of  toads,  and  lizards,  and  worms. — 

The  boldest  must  view  it,  with  bated  breath, 

The  fearful  mirage  of  the  canon  of  death  ! 

Ah,  where  shall  he  go  now,  Man,  the  mortal  ? 

What  power 

Appeal  to,  and  crave 

Himself  to  save  ? 

Or  cast  e'en  a  firefly's  glimmer  of  light 

At  this  midnight  hour 

Of  the  dark  and  fearful  and  terrible  night, 

That  breaks  beyond  the  grave  ? 

Before  him  there  stands  a  feudal  tower 

With  open  portal, 

Low  and  narrow  and  small, 

But  yet  may  enter  all, 

Who  will  bend  the  knee, 

In  humility ; 

The  head  of  his  helmet  uncover; 

And  lower 

The  neck  for  the  stroke  of  a  sword ; 

And  clasp  the  hands,  without  gauntlet  or  glaive, 

For  the  chains  of  a  slave ; 

And  with  heart  laid  bare, 


266  THE    TWO    TOWERS. 

Fealty  and  homage  swear 

To  the  LORD  : 

It  is  the  holy  TOWER  OF  PRAYER  !  ft 

Here  tapestries  haim  from  hall  to  hall, 

Where  all 

The  good  and  lovely  on  earth  that  has  proven, 

By  the  loom  of  the  happiest  vision  is  woven. 

And  what  heavens  of  bliss,  in  this  web,  for  the 

dead, 

Inwrousht  in  pearls  and  golden  thread  ! 
Here,  angels  and  bright  cherubim  ; 
Here,  saint  singing  psalm  and  hymn  ; 
Here,  the  sea-rover's  wild  Valhalla  joys, 
A  midday  battle,  a  midnight  carouse ; 
Here,  the  classic  elysium  of  Jove  ; 
Even  God's  holy  presence, 
A  light  eternal  of  life  and  love  ; 
And  absorption  into  the  Holy  Essence, 
Nirvani  ; 
And  many 

A  fiction  —  a  dream  — 
A  poet's  theme. 

The  old  Man  enters  the  Tower  of  Prayer  : 

His  fear  now  banished, 

His  care  now  vanished 

Into  air ; 

And  to  and  fro  through  the  tapestried  halls 

He,creeps, 

Till,  weary  with  visions  of  heaven,  he  falls, 

And  sleeps  — 

Sleeps  in  death  in  the  Tower  of  Prayer  ! 

For  Age  has  followed  him  even  there, 

And  before  his  victim  taken  a  stand, 

And  struck   the  death-blow  with  a  heavy  hand  ! 


Food  for  worms !  — 

Back  to  the  elemental  forms 

Of  Matter,  Man  goes,  as  science  affirms  ; 

But  the  life  —  the  soul  — 


THE    TWO    TOWERS.  267 

The  Force  that  pervaded  the  whole, 

Where  is  it  ?  or  here  or  there  ? 

On  earth  ?  iu  air  ? 

Or  bound  with  matter  to  shift  and  change 

In  its  infinite  range 

Of  forms  that  the  chemist  can  measure  and  weigh, 

As  a  farmer  can  reckon  his  wheat  and  his  hay  ? 

Or  apart  from  matter,  a  force  unique, 

This  world  or  a  better  again  to  seek, 

And  live  as  a  spirit  eternally, 

From  sin,  and  sorrow,  and  death  made  free? 

But  what  say  the  sextons,  old  and  grey, 

As  they  dig  the  grave  through  the  frozen  clay  ? 

Says  one  — 

"  Aye,  Winter  and  Age  are  born  of  one  mother, 

Are  brother  and  brother, 

And  as    Spring  follows  one,  so  youth  must  the 

other. 
In  faith, 
After  death, 

Again  we  will  both  be  boys, 

And,  perhaps,  in  the  height  of  our  youthful  joys, 
And  fun, 

Leap  over  the  graves,  with  nimble  foot, 
Where  our  old  bodies  moulder  and  rot. " 
The  other,  nodding  his  hoary  head  — 
"  'Tis  said, 
The  seed 

In  Spring  will  sprout  and  grow 
Best,  where  the  old  stock,  withered  and  dead, 
Falls  over  — 
A  leafy  cover 

To  melt  away  with  Winter's  snow, 
And  cherish, 
And  nourish 
Its  new-born  self,  a  flower  or  weed. " 

Nought  but  a  fiction  —  a  dream  — 

A  poet's  theme. 

Yet  such  things  fall  in  the  scales  of  the  mind 


268  THE    TWO    TOWERS. 


And  kick  the  beam 

To  good  or  evil ; 

Less,  by  far, 

Can  make  or  mar 

A  golden  harvest  to  rustic  hind  — 

Rain-drop  or  weevil  ! 


*  Plutarch,  in  his  comparison  between  land  crea 
tures  and  water  creatures,  says,  "  Cranes,  at  their  first 
setting  out,  cast  themselves  into  a  triangle  with  the 
front  forward,  thereby  to  cut  and  pierce  the  wind  that 
bloweth  before  and  about  them,  to  the  end  that  their 
rank,  thus  arranged  and  set  in  order,  might  not  possi 
bly  be  broken." —  Morals,  Holland's  translation,  folio, 
London,  1657,  p.  787. 

The  truth,  however,  lies  in  this:  The  eyes  of  the 
crane  are  situated  on  the  sides  of  the  head,  so  that  the 
bird  cannot  see  an  object  directly  in  its  front;  hence,  to 
follow  its  leader,  it  is  obliged  to  keep  a  little  to  one  side 
in  order  to  see  it.  The  same  is  true  of  the  wild-goose  of 
the  poem,  Branta  Canadensis. 

t  drsium  lanceolatum. 

I  See  Cowan's  Curious  History  of  Insects,  pp.  71-2, 
where  an  account  is  given  of  a  lawsuit  between  the 
Commune  of  St.  Julien  and  a  species  of  weevil  which 
continued  for  more  than  forty-two  years,  during  the 
Fifteenth  century. 

|  The  gigantic  spectre  of  the  Hartz  mountains  in 
Hanover,  and  seen  at  sunrise  from  the  Brocken,  the 
loftiest  peak  of  the  range,  is  nothing  more  than  the 
shadow  of  the  observer  cast  upon  the  thin  vapors  then 
floating  in  the  sky. 

g-This  old  word  bruah,  applied  to  the  hazy  circle 
sometimes  seen  around  the  disc  of  the  sun  and  moon, 
and  generally  considered  a  presage  of  change  of  weath 
er,  has  been  over-looked  by  our  standard  lexicographers. 
It  has  been  derived  from  the  Greek  Brochos,  a  chain 
about  the  neck,  possibly  our  brooch.  Other  forms  of  it 
are  brogh  and  brough  —  the  latter  occurring  in  the  old 
poem  The  Farmer's  Ha\  st.  28 : 

"  Meg  cries  she'll  wad  baith  her  shoon, 
That  we  shall  hae  wet  very  soon, 

And  weather  rough  ; 
P'or  she  saw  about  the  moon 
A  mickle  brought 


A  CENTENNIAL  COUNTERBLAST.     269 

Another  word  applied  to  the  lunar  halo  and  not. 
found  in  the  dictionaries  is  burr. —  Vide  Brande,  Jamie- 
son,  et  a  I.  The  "  lurid  bru<jh  "  of  the  poem  refers  to  the 
urcu-x  fseuilis,oY  red  circle  about  the  ball  of  the  eye  of 
aged  persons,  the  result  of  fatty  degeneration  of  the 
cornea. 

f  Totcniic  —  characteristic,  specific,  an  adjective  from 
totem,  an  Indian  word  for  a  picture  of  a    bird,  turtle,  or 
other  animal,  used  by  the  North  American  Indians  as  a 
family,  or  tribal  symbol  or  designation  —a  rude  kind  of 
heraldic  coat-of  arms,  and  so  termed  by  early  writers. 
"  Each  his  own  ancestral  totem, 
Each  the  symbol  of  his  household." —  iMngfellow, 

The  signification  of  the  upright  back  of  Man  is  elab 
orated  in  the  first  poem  in  this  volume,  "The  Last  of 
the  Mammoths." 

**  Territion,  another  useful  word  not  found  in  our 
standard  dictionaries.  Its  meaning  is  apparent  from 
the  following  quotation  from  Lieber's  Encyclopcedia 
Americana,  sub  voce  Torture  :  "  The  mere  threat  of  tor 
ture  is  termed  territwa,  and  is  distinguished  into  verbal 
terrM-ton,  in  which  the  accused  is  given  up  to  the  execu 
tioner,  who  conducts  him  to  the  engines  of  torture,  and 
describes,  in  the  most  appalling  manner  possible,  the 
sufferings  which  he  may  endure,  and  the  real  territion 
in  which  he  is  actually  placed  upon  the  machine,  but  is 
not  subjected  to  torture." 

ft  At  the  time  this  poem  was  written,  the  writer  had 
not  made  an  especial  study  of  the  science  of  symbolism. 
In  the  subsequent  poem,  "Chautauqua,"  the  signification 
of  the  attitudes  of  prayer  is  given  correctly. 


—  1876  — 

A   CENTENNIAL  COUNTERBLAST. 


BY  A  WRETCHED  WESTERN  POET,  IN  THE  CITY  OF 
BROTHERLY  LOVE,  JULY  4TH,  1876,  ON  HIS  WAY  (  HIC 
COUGHING  )  TO  THB  STATION-HOUSE. 


After  three  and  a  half  years'  service  in  the  treadmill 
of  a  newspaper  office,  involving  —  ad  nauseam  —  the 
thousand  and  one  odes  ot  the  clay,  the  brass  bands  and 
flag  displays,  the  slang  of  the  period,  and  the  genera 


270     A  CENTENNIAL  COUNTERBLAST. 


conviviality  of  the  Centennial  Year  of  'he  Republic  :  in 
volving,  as  it  were,  by  imbibition. 


I  say,  damn  this  clatter  !  — 
That's  what's  the  matter  (  hie  ) 

With  Hannah ! 

'Nough  to  make  a  man  cuss  — 
This  (  hie  )  confounded  fuss  ! 
This  (  hie  )  ridiculous  muss  !  - 
Gettin'  (  hie  )  wuss  and  wuss  ! 
Shoutin'  ! 
Spoutin' ! 
Singin'  hosanna  ! 
Wipin'  your  chin   with   a   flag   ( hie )   of 

bandana  ! 
Shoot  the  whole  caboodle  — 

The    'Merican    eagle   —   the    Fourth    of 

July- 

The  Little  Hatchet  that  couldn't  lie  — 
John  Hancock  and  (  hie  )  Yankee  Doodle  ! 
Shoot  the  whole  Centennial  biz  (  hie  ) 
From  the  Big  that  was  to  the  Little  that  is ! 

II. 

Bombs  bustin'  in  air  !  — 

1  wish  I  was  deef  I  — 
An'  the  rockets'  red  glare !  — 

Or  blind,  I'd  as  lief !  — 
An'  this  sulphurous  smell 
Would  stifle  all  (hie)  —  Well, 
Even  the  beer 
Tastes  confoundedly  queer ! 
An'  a  man  cannot  touch, 
But  he's  all  over  oueh  ! 
A  man  has  no  sense, 

But  it's  outraged  outright !  — 
No  sense  ?  A  (  hie  )  suggestion  —  No  cents  ! 
Ne'er  a  red ! 
Broke  —  dead  1 

Busted  higher  'an  a  kite  ! 
Lit  out  for  that  Kingdom  Come 


A  CENTENNIAL  COUNTERBLAST.     271 


Where    the    Rag-baby's    eye-teeth    are    cut 
(  hie  )  chewin'  gum  ! 


HI. 


And  what  for? 

O  (  hie  )  lor'  ! 

Give  us  room  !  give  us  room  ! 
The     American     Century     Plant's    in    full 

bloom  ! 


IV. 

The  American  Century  Plant  I 

I'd  like  to  meet  it !  — 
I've  seen  the  Centennial  elephant  — 

I  wonder  if  he  (  hie  )  could  have  eat  it ! 

V. 

Where  is  it?  —  There's  room  for  conjecture  ! 
What  is  it  ?  —  That's  food  for  a  lecture ! 
Some  pumpkins  for  independence  pie  ?  — 

An'  (  hie  )  sass  ? 
Or  small  potatoes  for  equality  ? 

Or  beans  (  hie  )  for  gas  ? 
Or  that  buncombe  bosh 
The  reformer's  squash  ? 
Or  this  (hie)  dead  beet?  — 
I'd  like  to  see't  — 
This  wonderful  century  plant, 
But  (  hie  )  can't ! 
However,  let's  have,  if  you  please, 
Some  Centennial  (  hie  )  peas. 

VI. 

Pull  down  your  vest !  —  (  hie  ) 

Young  man,  go  west !  — 

And  (  hie  )  give  us  a  rest !  — 

This  whole  Centennial  fuss 

Isn't  worth  a  (  hie  )  Continental  cuss  1 

And  that's  the  blizzard, 

From  a  to  izard, 

Of  my  Centennial  (  hie  )  blunderbuss  ! 


C'HAl'TAKQUA. 


—  1876  — 

CHAUTAUQUA. 

A  SONG  OF  SYMBOLISM. 


Involving  the  elaborate  symbolic  representations  on 
exhibition  at  the  Centennial,  in  the  departments  of 
statuary  and  painting,  confirming  the  writer  in  the  re 
sults  of  his  study  and  investigation,  and  emboldening 
him  to  give  expression  to  his  thoughts  as  freely  as  the 
sculptors  and  artists  of  the  civilized  world  had  done  in 
Their  works  before  him. 

A  lake  - 

As  fair  as  only  phantasy  can  make, 

With  ha  If- closed  eyes, 

At  even, 

In  the  glamour  of  glowing,  cloudy  skies  — 

In  the  vision  illusive  of  heaven. 

On  this  lake,  a  boat  — 

As  light  as  the  leaf  that  is  silently  borne, 

On  the  balmy  breath 

Of  a  warm  October  morn, 

From  the  tree  above  to  the  wave  beneath. 

With  neither  rustle  nor  ripple  to  note 

Whether  breezes  waft  or  waters  float  — 

Nay.  as  light  as  the  boat  by  poesy  wrought 

As  an  idle  toy  in  the  workshop  of  thought. 

Afloat, 

On  this  lake,  in  this  boat, 

A  thing,  encased  in  a  mottled  husk, 

Of  silk  and  cotton  and  straw  and  leather, 

In  a  strange  entanglement  held  together, 

And  diffusing  an  odor  of  musk  !  — 

Fie! 

An  eye 

Of  the  self-same  radient  blue 

That  gives  infinity  its  hue  ; 

A  lip  as  red  as  blood  can  stain, 

When  crimson  art'ry  and  purple  vein 


CHAUTAUQUA.  273 


Unite  in  a  common  mesh, 

In  a  gauze  of  semi-transparent  flesh  ; 

A  neck,  of  the  upturning  crucible's  glow, 

When  the  molten  steel  begins  to  flow  : 

As  white  and  as  clear,  with  a  dazzled-eye  hint 

Of,  within  it,  an  exquisite  violet  tint ; 

A  form  without  a  single  straight  line, 

In  a  series  of  arcs  that  all  beauty  combine  ; 

A  motion  extending,  with  varying  curve, 

The  lines  of  her  form,  without  tangent  or  swerve  ; 

A  being  —  the  wax  of  humanity's  mold  — 

To  be  melted  by  love  —  to  receive  —  to  hold  —  • 

To  shape  in  the  pattern  impressed  in  the  past, 

And  turn  out  alternates  of  self  with  each  cast ; 

A  woman  !  a  woman  of  womanly  worth 

As  ever  made  heaven  existence  on  earth. 

And  with  this  woman,  one 

Other, 

Neither  sire  nor  son, 

Nor  uncle  nor  brother, 

Nor  husband  nor  friend, 

And  yet  a  man  —  a  man 

To  dare  and  do  what  only  man  can. 

And  here  an  end  — 

She,  bending  the  bough,  a  ripe  lucious  peach ; 

He  hungry  —  the  food  he  most  craves  within  reach. 

It  is  Maud  and  I  that,  in  a  boat, 
On  Lake  Chautauqua,  are  afloat ! 
Together  we  pull  with  measured  oar ; 
Together  we  view  the  receding  shore ; 
Together  we  join  our  voices  in  song, 
And  merrily  sing  as  we  glide  along. 


Away  !  away  !  o'er  the  waters  blue  ! 
Away  ;  away  !  in  our  light  canoe  ! 
When  the  wave  is  calm  and  the  sky  is  clear, 
And  the  bark  that  floats  between,  my  dear, 
Has  only  two  oars  in  it  — 


274  CHAUTAUQUA. 

Two  oars  that  feather 

The  wave  together ! 

• 

Away  !  away  !  o'er  the  waters  wide  ! 
Away  !  away  !  o'er  the  billowy  tide  ! 
When,  tho'  death  is  below,  there  is  heaven  above, 
And  [i  world  at  rest  between,  my  love, 
With  only  two  souls  in  it  — 

Two  souls  that  feather 

The  wind  together  I 


Till  our  stroke,  like  a  sledge, 

Has  driven 

The  keen  prow-edge 

Of  our  boat,  like  a  wedge, 

To  the  splintering  heart 

Of  the  log- like  lake  — 

Till  the  lake  in  twain  is  riven, 

And  gapes  in  our  widening  wake  ; 

And  Maud  and  I  from  the  world  are  apart ! 

A  motionless  speck  — 

An  indistinct  fleck, 

To  the  eye  on  the  distant  shore ; 

Where  the  evening  shadows  away  into  night ; 

Where  the  casements  lengthen  to  streamers  of  light ; 

Where  the  reveling's  roar  — 

The  crash  of  the  music,  the  dancing,  the  din  — 

Is  heard  no  more, 

Save  in  the  faint  note  of  a  lone  violin  — 

A  thread  of  gossamer  sound  so  thin, 

That  sense  is  in  doubt  — 

Is  it  something  without, 

Or  something  within  ? 

I  sit  in  the  bow,  —  nay,  to  sit,  I  seem  ; 
For  I  am  ubiquity's  self  in  my  dream  ;     • 
Maud  touches  the  oar  with  a  finger  tip, 
And  listlessly  toys  with  its  dainty  drip  — 
That  touch  of  the  girl 
Transmutes  the  drops  and  the  wave  into  pearl. 


CHAUTAUQUA.  275 

She  smiles;  a  wavelet' encircles  the  oar 

And  widens  out  toward  the  shadowy  shore  — 

Till  the  lake  is  wreathed  from  a  central  isle 

In  the  mirth  sympathetic  and  play  of  her  smile. 

She  laughs;  the  water-lap  under  the  bow 

Echoes  her  voice  to  the  depth  below  ; 

While  the  mirth-bounding  midges  bear  it  on  high. 

To  the  stars  that  flash  from  her  upturning  eye. 

The  lake  with  her  touch  is  pearled  ; 

The  lake  with  her  smile  is  whorled  ; 

While  the  depth  below  and  the  height  above 

Rejoice 

With  her  voice ; 

The  world  —  the  all-inclusive  world 

Is  intermingled  Maud  and  I  in  love ! 


The  air  —  so  still !  and  the  wave  and  the  sky  — 

so  dark  ! 
Sound  and  sight 
Are  lost  in  the  night 
That  envelops  the  world  of  love  in  our  bark. 

Closer,  Maud,  creep ! 

The  heart  is  not  hushed  in  the  swelling  breast ; 

The  love-lighted  eye  has  not  sunk  in  the  west 

Of  sleep. 

Then   come !  —  Interlocked,    love,    our    hearing 

and  sight 
Will  know  not  of  silence,  will  know  not  of  night. 

Thou  tremblest,  love !  Thy  breath  is  warm  — 

Nay,  hot  and  fast  — 

A  feverish,  full,  and  broken  blast  ! 

Dost  fear  the  calm  will  break  into  storm  ? 

Hark !  • 

A.  sound 

Gurgles  up  from  the  depth  profound, 

And  startles  the  sable  stillness  around ! 

And  now  a  shock  ! 


276  CHAUTATJQUA. 


And  a  rising  wave  that  begins  to  rock 
The  listless  bark  ! 

Nay,  calm  thy  alarms  — 

Thou  art  safe  in  my  artns ! 

Our  boat 

Though  a  light  and  fragile  shell,  will  float 

Above 

The  highest  as  well  as  the  lowest  wave, 

And  save 

Us  in  the  trust  of  love ! 

In  all  its  fury,  breaks  the  storm, 
With  tumultuous  force  and  in  phrensied  form  ! 
Till  the  ear  is  deaf  with  the  thunder's  crash, 
And  the  eye  is  blind  with  the  lightning's  flash  !  — 
Till  our  bark  to  the  heavens  above  is  tossed  — 
Is  shivered  —  is  sinking  —  down,  down  —  and 
is  lost  ! 

Nay,  lost  in  a  swoon,  Maud  and  I ; 

While  the  boat 

Keeps  afloat, 

And  drifts  away 

Quietly  into  a  silent  bay 

Deep 

In  sleep ; 

Where  —  how  long  I  know  not  —  we  lie. 

And  recover. — 

The  storm  is  over. 

The  shore  is  at  hand. 

And,  amid  the  crash  of  the  revelers'  band, 

At  midnight,  we  land. 


Round  and  round  the  waltzers  go, 
Turning  on  the  tuneful  toe, 
Spinning  fast  or  reeling  slow, 

In  close-clasped  gyration  ; 
Little  eddies  of  the  ball, 
In  the  whirl-pool  of  the  hall, 


OIIAUTAUQrA. 

Iii  the  mighty  vortical 

Of  the  earth's  rotation  ! 

With  the  winding,  waltzing  world. 
Tops  by  gayety  thumb-twirled, 
Maud  and  I  are  wildly  whirled 

In  the  maze  around  us  ; 
Round  and  round  —  the  lake  is  dry ! 
Round  and  round  —  the  storm  a  lie ! 
Round  and  round  —  till  Maud  and  j 

Are  as  evening  found  us  ! 

The  morning  is  black  ; 

The  sky  is  ragged  with  rack  ; 

The  air  is  heavy  and  hot ; 

A  feverish  doubt 

Runs  in  and  out, 

And  is  answered  not  — 

In  a  cheek  that  blanches  and  burns  ; 

In  an  eye  that  deadens  and  dazzles  by  turns ; 

In  a  heart  that  stifles  and  throbs ; 

In  a  warmth  that  gives  and  a  coldness  that  robs. 

The  deck  is  dull ;  the  book  a  block  ; 

The  song  a  sigh  ;  the  run  a  walk  ; 

The  walk  a  mope  with  hasty  turn  ; 

The  look  in  pity  half  to  spurn  ; 

The  ring  unworn  : 

The  letter  torn  ; 

The  rose  a  ragged,  bleeding  thorn  !  — 

A  bleeding  thorn  that  bleeds  afresh, 

When  I  draw  near ; 

Like  murdered  flesh 

When  the  murderer  doth  appear. 

In  the  afternoon, 

The  hammock  hangs  like  a  horned  dry-moon, 

And  Maud  reclines  in  the  crescent  lap  — 

By  a  strangely  sweet,  fortuitious  hap, 

Blending  in  one  symbol  together, 

Woman  in  love  in  the  trust  of  fair  weather. 


278  CHAUTAUQUA. 


Afar,  I  dare  to  speak. 

And  with  my  tongue,  my  foot  keeps  pace ; 

Nearer,  nearer,  till  I  can  trgce 

The    tears    in    great   drops    coursing    down    her 

cheek  — 

Till  I  can  look  into  her  eye, 
And  with  mine  ardent  gaze,  the  tear-suurce  dry. 

The  heaviness  begins  to  lift ; 
And  in  the  rack  there  is  a  rift ; 
The  sun  pours  down  a  golden  flood 
That  warms  the  blood, 
Till  it  lightly  flows, 
A.nd  brightly  glows. 


We  walk 

And  talk 

Together. 

I  place  a  feather 

Of  fern  in  her  hair ; 

While  my  tremulous  fingers  linger  there, 

Till  the  stem  is  broken. 

But  no  matter  th'  inanimate  token  — 

There's  a  thicket  of  fern 

At  every  turn  ! 

The  rack  is  gone ; 

The  faintest  cloud  has  flown  ; 

The  sun  descends  in  a  glowing  west ; 

The  world  reclines  in  enraptured  rest. 


It  is  even. 

The  earth  is  poised  in  an  ambient  heaven. 

Every  object  against  the  sky 

That  listless  re  very  can  descry, 

Is  the  haloed  head  of  a  hallowed  saint, 

Such  as  ecstatic  limners  paint. 

The  purple  haze 

Comes  into  being  like  a  mist 

Of  amethyst, 


CAIIUTAUQUA.  279 


And  grows  within  our  silent  gaze, 

Till,  in  one  comprehending  whole, 

Of  love  impassioned,  sentient  soul, 

Our  beings  dissolve  and  become  a  part  — 

The  beating  heart. 

The  long-curved  lashes  of  the  eyes  of  Day 
Close  thu  world  in  their  shadows  of  gray. 

Is  it  the  darkness  that  makes  me  bold  ? 
I  dare  to  touch  Maud's  silken  fold  ! 
Close  to  her  side  I  steal  ; 
Her  warm  breath  on  my  cheek  I  feel ; 
I  linger  on  her  lips,  while  she  is  pressed 
In  rapture  to  my  throbbing  breast. 

The  rack  of  the  morn  without  a  rift, 

The  clouds  of  the  afternoon  adrift, 

The  glamour,  the  halo,  the  haze,  the  shade, 

In  a  fathomless  grave  together  are  laid  — 

The  Past  has  no  ghost  to  rise  and  affright 

The  wondrous  might 

Of  love  encased  in  the  black  mail  of  night ! 

The  boat  awaits  —  the  boat !  the  boat ! 
That  in  the  storm  kept  bravely  afloat !    . 
That  beat  on  the  heaving  billow's  breast ! 
That  topped  the  highest  watery  crest ! 
Ha  1  danger  must  take  another  form 
To  deter  fond  love  than  a  passionate  storm  ! 
Thou  hast  no  fear?  Then  come,  Maud,  come, 
Arid  the  lake  forever  shall  be  our  home ! 

Together  we  row  —  Maud  and  I  —  in  the  boat ; 
On  the  stormy  lake  again  we're  afloat ! 


A  snail,  in  his  own  individual  shell, 

In  the  torture  of  self  writhed  and  whorled, 
Hangs  out  of  his  window  above  a  deep  well, 

To  take  a  wide  view  of  the  world. 


280  CHAUTAUQUA. 


Protruding  a  finger-like  sensitive  socket, 
With  cautious  contemplative  move, 

He  draws  out  a  glass  from  the  out-turning  pocket. 
And  brings  it  to  bear  upon  —  love  ! 

Love,  deep  in  the  circumscribed  world  of  a  well, 

In  the  form  of  a  petal -like  boat, 
Afloat  on  the  crest  of  the  surface-drip's  swell, 

And  in  it,  two  fire-flies  afloat ! 

Enraptured,  the  snail  shuts  his  telescope-eye, 
And  sets  out  Parnassus  to  climb  ; 

The  surface  is  slippy,  the  summit  is  high, 

But  he  sticks  as  he  cniwls  up  —  in  slime  ! 


Yea  ;  it  is  true, 

The  lake,  the  boat,  and  Maud  and  I 

Are  but  the  figments  oi  a  lie  ; 

The  storm,  the  swoon,  the  dainty  diction 

Of  the  erotic  muse  of  fiction  ; 

And  ragged  the  rounds 

Of  rhythmic  sounds 

That  compass  the  sensuous  dreamer's  bounds ; 

Yet,  give  the  poor  devil  his  due! 

The  poet  must  writhe  in  his  shell, 

And  look  in  a  well, 

And  .see  there  earth,  heaven,  and  hell  — 

Yea,  hopper  humanity's  infinite  selves 

To  the  tiniest  elves 

Begot 

Of  thought  — 

The  fire-flies  in  the  snail's  well  view, 

Or  Maud  and  I  in  he  lake  canoe. 


It  is  an  innate  habit  of  the  Thought 

To  mirror  the  great  world  according  to 

The  modes  in  which  the  great  world  is  expressed 

In  halves  that  are  as  nothing  when  alone, 

But  when  united  are  all  powerful, 

Omnipotent  in  reproductive  might, 


CHAUTAUQUA.  281 

Evolving  self  into  infinity  - 

In  halves,  or  male  or  female  —  man  and  woman, 

In  highest  form,  down  to  the  lowest  hint  — 

The  push  and  pull  of  every  mode  of  force  — 

The  in  and  out  of  every  form  of  matter 

That  vortices  in  individuality. 

And  so  as  Man  is  halved  in  man  and  woman, 

Each  individual  is  halved  again  — 

Divided  thro'  and  thro'  from  brain  to  heart  — 

Into  a  man  and  woman  brain  and  heart. 

So  there  are  male  and  female  modes  of  thought,  — 
Philosophy  and  Poesy,  in  point. 

The  man,  Philosophy,  swells,  from  the  one 

Unto  the  many,  with  expanding  arms; 

The  woman,  Poesy,  shrinks  from  the  many. 

And,  with  enfolding  arms,  clasps  all  in  one. 

Philosophy  resolves  the  milky  way 

Into  a  myriad  of  revolving  worlds ; 

While  Poesy,  dissolves  the  light  of  all 

Into  the  lustre  of  a  single  star  — 

Into  the  soft  light  of  a  woman's  eye. 

Philosophy  creates  a  quadruped, 

From  out  the  billion  bipeds  of  the  earth, 

And  calls  the  monster  Man  —  eternal  Man  ; 

While  Poesy  reduces  all  to  two, 

A  man  and  woman,  who  are  born  to  die, 

And  who,  between  the  cradle  and  the  grave, 

Think  in  one  soul  the  thoughts  that  millions  think, 

Feel  in  one  heart  the  throbs  that  millions  feel, 

And  people  worlds  in  one  —  Storm  on  the  Lake. 

And  man  and  woman  like,  these  modes  of  thought 

May  live  to  adult  life  and  hoary  age 

And  be  abortive  one  without  the  other  — 

Each  unproductive,  in  their  work  apart, 

Of  aught  that  lives  a  separate  existence. 

Philosophy,  a  bachelor,  shoots  up 

Divergent  rockets  in  the  face  of  heaven, 

That  point  with  fiery  finger  to  the  stars, 

Then  burst  in  vain  self  praise  and  fall  as  sticks ; 


282  CHAUTAUQTTA. 

While  Poesy,  a  spinster,  knits  a  sock 

That  ravels  at  the  top  as  fast  as  she 

Can  draw  the  threads  together  at  the  toe. 

But,  joined  as  man  and  wife,  Philosophy 

And  Poesy  bring  forth  a  living  being, 

Wherein  the  aspiration  of  the  sire. 

Beyond  the  bourn  of  comprehension, 

Is  blended  with  the  fond  love  of  the  mother, 

As  finite  as  an  individual  — 

A  nameless  being  to  the  wise  and  good  ; 

An  idol,  in  a  thousand  different  forms, 

Under  as  many  mimes  and  signs,  to  those 

Who  comprehend  with  only  eye  and  ear. 

Here,  reader,  pause.     Thou  art  Philosophy. 

Look  out  with  thy  accustomed  sight,  that  dims 

Not  in  the  dark'ning  distance  of  the  past, 

And  see  the  head-width  of  the  wedge  of  thought, 

That  Poesy  has  narrowed  to  a  point 

Within  the  storm-tossed  boat  on  Luke  Chautauqua. 

Dost  see  not  in  remotest,  darkest  Ind, 

The  mystic  ARGHA.  in  whose  ovoid  depth 

The  stream  of  life  hath  an  exhaustless  fount? 

Dost  see  not,  in  the  mist  of  Hebrew  myth, 

This  selfsame  argha  in  the  mystic  ARK, 

That,  while  the  world's  engulfed  in  death, 

Bears  in  its  womb  the  fruitful  halves  of  life? 

Dost  see  not  in  the  blue  of  Grecian  past, 

This  same  boat  ARGOS,  filled  with  armed  men. 

Who  sail  away  to  Colchian  land,  and  steal 

The  golden  fleece  of  immortality? 

Dost  see  not  in  the  glamour  of  to-day 

The  symbol  of  the  argha  in  the  ARCH, 

Through  which  in  triumph  march  **  hosts  of  men 

Flushed  with  the  glow  of  vital  victory  ; 

And  under  which,  in  its  grand  form,  the  dome, 

The  millions  kneel  in  hope  of  life  eternal  ? 

Or  wise  Philosophy,  dost  see  not  in 

The  very  OAR  that  trembles  in  Maud's  hand  — 

The  oar  propelling  the  light  curved  boat  — 

The  active  AR  that  speaks  the  might  of  man 


€HAUTAUQITA,  2pO 

In  unioo  with  the  passive  ARK  of  woman  ? 
The  ARROW  winging  from  the  curved  bow 
Of  Cupid's  self,  the  very  god  <jf  love? 
The  point  that  EARS  the  mellow  mould 
And  makes  of  barrenness  a  teeming  EARTH  ? 
The  ARM  of  man,  that  in  the  war  of  life, 
Strikes  down  the  hosts  of  death  opposing  him  ? 
The  ART  of  man  comprising  all  his  work  ? 
The  ARDOR  of  consuming  passion  ?  —  Yea, 
An  ARIAN  must  thou  be,  and  freely  breathe 
The  AIR  of  mystic  lore,  Philosophy, 
To  mate  with  Lake  Chautauqua's  Poe&y  ! 
Within  the  very  words  of  "  Maud  "  and  "  I," 
Religion  from  infinity  has  lived, 
And  to  infinity  will  live  —  as  long 
As  man  and  woman  give  to  thought  their  sex. 
Maternity  wombs  in  the  sound  of  ':M," 
From   "mother"  to  the  holy  name  of  "Mary"; 
Paternity's  expressed  for  aye  in  "  I, " 
From     "John"    and    "Jack"    to    "Jesus"  and 
"  Jehovah  "  ! 


I  come  from  phantasy  far,  far  away, 
To  fact  at  hand. 

Maud  kneels,  arid  folds  her  hands 
Together  in  the  symbol  of  herself, 
Before  her  baby  in  the  cradle  lapped, 
And  prays  unto  the  Infant  in  the  arms 
Of  her  that  bare  Him  —  Him  the  finite  god 
Of  woman  thought  and  love  concentrated  — 
The  Saviour  of  mankind  a  weakling  babe, 
Within  the  comprehension  of  a  child  ! 
In  sacred  sympathy  with  her,  I  rise, 
Uphold  my  right  hand  tow'rd  the  farthest  sky, 
And  silently  extend  her  words  unto 
The  infinite  Incomprehensible, 
Beyond  the  wide  reach  of  man's  aspiration  ! 

O  blessed  woman  thought,  sweet  Poesy ! 
Without  thee  there  had  been  no  Infant  Christ ! 
Ubiquity's  too  vague  to  be  a  god  ! 


284  NIAGARA. 


—  1876  — 

GAR  A. 


Die,  like  a  dog 

With  a  curse-pointed  kick  in  a  dyke  ? 
Die,  like  a  hog. 

When  the  pork-market  tyrant  cries,  Strike? 
Die  like  a  leper  with  loathsome  disease  — 
A  sewer  of  quackery  —  carrion  of  fees  ? 
Die  of  old  age  with  a  shudder  and  chill, 
'Mid  weeping  relations  disputing  my  will  ? 
Die  like  the  millions  of  mortals  that  drag  o'er  a 
Life  of  cold  commonplace?  Never!    Niagara! 

I  that  have  breathed  with  the  lungs  of  a  fire  ; 
I  that  have  loved  with  insatiate  desire  — 
Clasped  with  the  strong  arms  of  sensuous  might  — 
Whirled  in  the  wild  waltz  of  maddened  delight  — 
Whirled  in  the  reeling  of  rapture  to  stagger  —  a 
Vortex  suspended  in  passion's  Niagara  ! 

1  that  have  reveled  in  thrills,  from  a  kiss 
To  the  wallow  of  lust  in  a  surfeit  of  bliss  ! 
Till,  bloated,  besotted,  and  rotten  with  sin, 
The  world  is  as  burnt  out  without  as  within  !  — 
Save  thee,  0  Death,  in  a  bullet  —  a  dagger  —  a 
Leap  in  the  flood  of  the  mighty  Niagara  ! 

Save  thee,  Niagara  !  Torrent  of  Death  ! 
If  thou  canst  extinguish  this  passion-fired  breath  ! 
lloll  up  resistless  thy  might  in  one  flood  ! 
Seethe  in  thy  rapids  like  love-boiling  blood  ! 
Quiver  an  instant  in  brink-edge  orgasm  ! 
Plunge  !  and  go  down  with  me  into  the  chasm  — 
Into  the  thunder,  the  mist-cloud,  and  flag-array 
Stolen  from  heaven,  thou  hell  of  Niagara  ! 

Ha  !  how  thou  hugg'st  me  in  love's  last  embrace, 
Bared  breast  to  breast,  and  hot  face  to  face  ! 
Over  the  breakers  we  hurriedly  ride  — 
Through  the  swift  rapids  ecstatic  we  glide  — 


THE    FCDDLEH    OF    TIME.  285 

Kiss  me  —  oh.  kiss  me  while  yet  there  is  breath  ! 
Down.  down,  together  we  go,  iove,  to  death  !  — 
Into  the  black  depth,  and  into  the  blacker  Aye  !  — 
Laura-limbed,  Laura-lipped,  LH ura- Niagara  ! 

—  1877  — 

THE  FIDDLER  OF  TIME. 

It  was  au  old  fiddler,  as  bare  as  his  bow, 
In  the  arm  and  the  time-beating  leg, 

And  as  notched  as  his  fiddle  about  the  middle, 
As  he  sate  upon  a  keg,  — 

And  scraped  and  straddled  and  seesawed  and  scored, 

In  an  everchanging  tune, 
Now  fast,  now  slow,  now  high,  now  low, 

The  while  a  crash,  syne  a  croon. 

And  as  fast  as  the  hairs  of  his  bow  wore  out, 

They  grew  in  his  long  white  beard ; 
While  his  strings  were  a  part  of  the  throbbing  heart 

That  in  his  music  was  heard  — 
/ 

That  in  his  music  was  heard  in  the  beat 

Of  his  bare  and  bony  leg  — 
Ha !  a  fiddler  was  he  as  none  other  could  be 

But  Time  on  the  Earth  as  a  keg. 

Aye,  kee-  squeaky  -squaw  ky-tweedle-dee-dee. 
Went  the  fiddle  and  bow  of  Time, 

On  the  keg  of  the  Earth  in  the  mansion  of  Mirth, 
On  the  rocky  ridge  of  Rhyme. 

When  lo !  there  appeared  a  succession  of  forms 

In  the  merry  old  fiddler's  sight, 
Reviewing  the  Past  from  the  first  to  the  last 

As  they  waltzed  into  the  light  — 

Of  the  wick  that  sang  and  danced  as  it  burned, 

Above  the  fiddler's  skull, 
Till  behold !  it  shone  like  a  golden  sun 

Upon  the  moon  at  full ! 


286  THE    FIDDLER    OF    TIME. 


Ha !  this  is  the  Maiden  of  Matter,  I  wis, 

This  shapeless,  graceless  mass, 
In  a  gown  of  gray  —  a  gown  of  clay 

Diffused  like  a  dusk  throughout  space. 

And  oho !  this  partner  that  clasps  her  waist, 

And  whirls  her  in  his  course, 
Till  she  seems  to  roll  like  a  flag  round  a  pole,  — 

This  dashing  fellow  is  Force ! 

Kee-squeaky-squawky-tweedle-dee  dee, 
Round  and  round  from  left  to  right, 

Till  lo  !  they  are  whirled  into  a  World 
In  the  merry  old  fiddler's  sight ! 

The  world  of  Matter  and  Force  in  mtisk  — 
In  the  guise  of  Man  and  Woman  ! 

The  world  of  naught  to  feeling  and  thought, 
Until  it  evolves  the  Human  !  W 

The  world  without  the  fiddler's  skull, 
And  the  world  within,  in  thought, 

That  begets  in  truth,  but  when,  forsooth, 
It  begets  as  Man  is  begot.* 

When  lo !  as  the  world  of  Matter  and  Force, 

Revolved  as  a  waltzing  ball, 
In  the  light  of  the  sun  and  the  mirroring  moon 

That  illumined  the  fiddler's  hall  - 

There  came  and  went  another  pair 

In  the  merry  old  fiddler's  sight  — 

Who  but  Dandy  Day.  in  the  rainbow's  array, 

Whirling  round  with  the  Negress  of  Night  — 

With  the  Negress  of  Night,  in  her  gown  of  gauze, 

Of  woven  silence  and  jet,    ' 
With  a  crown  on  her  brow,  and  a  silver  bow 

In  a  golden  galaxy  set. 

Kee-squeaky-squawky-tweedle-dee-dee, 

Round  and  round  in  the  waltz  they  go, 

Now  there,  now  here,  until  a  Year 
Is  turned  on  their  tuneful  toe. 


THE    FIDDLER    OF    TIME.  287 


When  oho  !  ha  !  ha  !  What  a  jolly  pair 

Is  this  that  comes  into  sight  ? 
The  lady  in  green  is  Summer,  I  ween, 

And  the  gentleman,  Winter,  in  white. 

And  was  ever  there  seen  such  a  gown  of  green, 

As  the  Lady  of  Summer  wore, 
When  with  golden  hair  and  faultlessly  fair, 

She  appeared  on  the  fiddler's  floor? 

And  in  what  a  grim  guise  of  snow  and  ice, 
Was  the  blustering  Winter  dressed  ! 

While  an  icicle  froze  to  the  point  of  his  nose 
And  hung  down  to  his  breast ! 

Kee-squeaky-squawky-tweedle-dee-dee, 

Round  and  round  go  the  Green  and  White, 

Till  another  pair  in  their  turn  appear 
In  the  merry  old  fiddler's  sight. 

Ho !  Will  o'  the  Wind,  on  dainty  toe, 

A  filmy,  fairy  form, 
Till,  gathering  force  as  as  he  whirls  in  his  course, 

He  sweeps  away  a  Storm  ! 

While  his  partner,  behold,  the  Maid  of  the  Mist, 

In  a  fleecy  gray  gown  and  hood, 
Till,  whirling  about  to  a  Water-spout, 

She  bursts  into  a  Flood  ! 

Till  oho  !  ha !  ha  !  the  fiddler  plays 

As  never  he  played  before, 
While  the  lightnings  flash  and  the  thunders  crash, 

And  the  torrent  redoubles  its  roar ! 

Kee-squeaky-squawky-tweedle-dee-dee, 
Round  and  round  in  majestic  might, 

Till  another  pair  in  their  turn  appear 
In  the  merry  old  fiddler's  sight. 

Ha  !  Will  o'  the  Wisp,  thou  wandering  sprite, 
Dancing  hither,  and  higher  and  higher, 

Till,  swelling  beneath  a  smoky  wreath, 
He  rages  a  furious  Fire  ! 


288  THE    FIDDLER    OF   TIME. 


Aud  the  Nymph  of  the  Wood  whom  he  holds  in  hi8  arms, 

As  round  and  round  he  turns, 
Who  is  she  in  the  sash  of  the  hue  of  ash, 

But  the  Forest  and  all  that  burns ! 

Till  oho!  ha  !  ha!  the  wild,  wild   waltz 
That  makes  the  old  fiddler  shake  — 

A  Volcano  of  fire  rising  higher  and  higher. 
In  the  arms  of  a  whirling  Earthquake  ! 

Kee-squeaky-squawky-tweedle-dee-dee, 
Round  and  round  in  majestic  might, 

Till  another  pair  in  turn  appear 

In  the  merry  old  fiddler's  sight. 

Ah,  this  is  the  Lad}1  of  Life,  I  ween, 

In  the  morn  of  a  summer's  day, 
The  beauty  and  mirth  of  heaven  and  earth 

Involved  in  a  clod  of  clay  ! 

Her  hair,  the  golden  gleam  of  the  duwn, 

Her  eye,  the  blue  above, 
Her  form,  the  last  in  the  living  mould  cast, 

Her  heart,  the  heaven  of  Love ! 

And  this  is  Death,  this  ghastly  shade. 

This  greedy,  grinning  ghoul, 
From  out  the  gloom  of  a  gaping  tomb 

Where  all  is  forbidding  and  foul. 

And  he  would  waltz  with  the  Lady  of  Life, 

This  loathsome  leper  of  old  ; 
But  before  he  placed  his  arm  round  her  waist, 

The  fiddler  bade  him  hold. 

Aye,  the  fiddler  of  Time,  with  a  quivering  bow, 

And  a  thrill  suspended  leg, 
With  gasping  breath,  commanded  Death 

To  take  his  fiddle  and  keg. 

When  away  with  a  hop  and  a  skip  and  a  jump, 

He  sped  to  the  Lady's  side, 
And  with  circling  arms  enfolded  the  charms 

Of  heaven  and  earth  in  his  bride. 


THE   FIDDLER   OF   TIME.  289 

And  round  and  round  in  a  giddy  waltz, 
Went  the  Lady  of  Life  and  Time,  — 

Round  the  keg  of  the"  Earth  in  the  mansion  of  Mirth, 
On  the  rocky  ridge  of  Rhyme. 

While,  kee-squ.eaky-squawky-tweedle-dee-dee, 
Went  the  fiddle  and  bow  of  Death, 

Till  Time  turned  about  without  marking  a  note  , 
And  the  Lady  gasped  for  breath,  — 

And  fell  on  the  floor  in  a  silent  swoon,  — 

When  Death  dropped  the  fiddle  and  bow, 

And,  while  Time  8tood  aghast in  the  maze  of  the  Past, 
Entombed  the  Lady  in  woe. 

When  behold  !  the  wick  was  a  ghastly  hue, 

Where  all  was  glitter  and  glare, 
And  the  maker  of  Mirth  on  the  keg  of  the  Earth, 

Sate  in  silence  and  despair. 

How  long  —  how  many  long  ages  he  sate, 

No  human  tongue  can  tell ; 
For  the  time-beating  leg  OD  the  terrene  keg 

Is  still  while  the  heart  is  in  hell.f 

He  sate  until  —  it  happened  so, 

The  best  of  reasons  why  — 
Philosophy  came  to  study  the  flame 

That  cast  its  strange  hue  in  his  eye. 

When  stumbling  upon  the  fiddle  and  bow, 

Of  the  sad  old  fiddler  of  Time, 
The  strings  went  twing-twang  —  and  Melody  rang, 

Once  more  on  the  ridge  of  Rhyme  1 

When  the  sad  old  fiddler  awoke  from  his  woe, 

And  took  up  his  fiddle  and  bow, 
And  began  to  play  —  from  grave  to  gay  — 

When  the  wick  began  to  glow. 

And  behold !  the  Philosopher  turned  him  about 

In  the  whirl  of  a  merry  dance, 
With  a  partner  that  came  with  the  glow  of  the  flame , 

On  an  errand  for  old  Dame  Chance  — 


290  THE   FIDDLER   OF   TIME. 

Sweet  Poesy !   Ah,  what  a  winsome  wench, 

In  the  fiddler's  staring  eye, 
As  she  whirled  and  whirled  into  a  new  world 

In  the  arras  of  Philosophy  ! 

Kee-squeaky-squawky- 1  weedle-dee-  dee, 
Goes  the  fiddle  and  bow  of  Time, 

On  the  keg  of  the  Earth  in  the  mansion  of  Mirth, 
On  the  rocky  ridge  of  Rhyme. 

And  around  go  the  twain  in  a  wild,  wild  waltz, 

While  the  fiddler  stares  aghast, 
As  anon  they  assume    in   the  gloom  of  the  tomb 

The  form  of  the  buried  Past  — 

Of  the  Lady  of  Life  in  the  arms  of  —  Himself! 

When,  whirling  with  bated  breath, 
He  beheld  her  fall  in  the  reeling  hall, 

When  he  danced  to  the  fiddling  of  Death  ! 


*  That  is,  the  brain  thinks  accurately  and  arrives  at 
such  conclusions  as  may  be  deemed  the  truth,  only 
when  it  follows  the  formulas  of  thought  as  they  exist  on 
the  outside  of  the  organism  —  in  the  sequence  of  events 
in  nature,  the  alternation  of  light  and  shade,  summer 
and  winter,  life  and  death,  the  growths  of  planet  and 
plant  —  or,  as  in  the  poem,  as  Man  is  begot.  Further,  a 
man  being  the  sum  of  the  accumulated  impressions  of 
his  environment  and  that  of  his  ancestors  for  ages,  he 
thinks  correctly  only  when  he  thinks  in  accordance 
with  his  organization  —  his  being  as  a  whole.  And  here 
I  may  say,  too,  that  two  persons  or  two  peoples,  with 
approximately  the  same  organizations  will  arrive  at  ap 
proximately  the  same  mental  results  — in  philosophy 
poetry,  art,  and  science  —  as  they  do  in  physical  appear 
ance.  The  brain  in  the  exercise  of  its  function  of 
t  hought  is  no  more  without  the  organism  than  the  arm 
in  casting  a  stone. 

t  This  idea  has  been  expressed  in  a  variety  of  words 
i  n  preceding  pages  :  in  "  The  Slave  of  the  Lamp  "  — 
But  what  are  Time  and  Tide  to  him 

That  lies  in  the  depth  of  hell ; 
and  in  "  The  Jester  of  Old  King  Coal  "— 

Where  years  ago  —  but  as  yesterday, 
To  the  woe  that  notes  not  time. 


THE    LAST    MAN. 


—  1878  — 

THE  LAST  MAN. 

He  stands  upon  an  arc  of  the  round  earth 
Revolving  in  a  triple  whirl  through  space  ; 
His  back,  a  line  directing  downward  to 
The  centre  of  the  earth  —  the  Finite  Point ; 
And  upward  to  the  Infinite  —  the  Naught, 
Until,  within  the  triple  whirl  of  the 
Revolving  earth,  it  is  involved  in  it, 
And  at  its  centre  finite  made,  Henceforth 
To  whirl,  involving  and  evolving,  till 
It  winds  into  the  thought  of 

The  Last  Man. 

His  eyes  with  the  horizon  form  a  blade, 
That,  whirling  wheresoever  may  the  world, 
Bisects  the  Finite  from  the  Infinite  — 
The  part  from  an  hypothecated  whole ; 
As  it,  as  well,  bisects  himself  in  twain, 
The  part  below  the  eyes  from  that  above, 
The  mortal  man  from 

An  immortal  Soul. 

Within  the  concave  of  his  skull,  above 
The  line  of  the  horizon  and  his  eyes  — 
The  counterpart  organic  of  the  dome 
Dividing  the  in-known  from  the  unknown,  — 
Aye,  what  is  the  self-comprehensible 
Within  his  skull,  but  the  organic  form 
Of  a  self-comprehensible  without  — 
Within  the  greater  skull  —  of  whom  ? 

Of  God ! 

Whence  came  he  ?  From  and  out  the  Infinite. 
But  how  ?  By  the  involving  of  the  Infinite 
Within  the  whirl  of  the  revolving  earth, 
Until,  made  finite  at  its  central  point, 
A  newborn  eddy  set  out  in  its  course, 


292  THE    LAST    MAN. 

Involving  and  evolving  as  it  turned, 
Until,  above  the  line  of  the  horizon, 
Behold  !  he  stands  revealed  unto  himself 
The  Finite  Son  —  of  whom  ? 

The  Infinite 
With  an  immortal  soul,  the  Son  of  God  ! 


But  when  was  he  begat  ?  There  is  no  Time 
Between  the  Finite  and  the  Infinite. 
In  the  relationship  between  the  Son 
Of  God  and  God,  he  Is  — 

And  there  an  end. 
The  soul  is  as  eternal  as  its  God. 


But,  mark,  between  him  and  the  finite  earth, 

And  other  and  the  myriad  forms  involved 

In  individuality  unto 

His  comprehension,  there  is  Time  —  a  Past 

In  which  there  are  relationships 

Of   first  and    last  —  of    sequence  —  Birth    and 

Heath, 

As  eddy  after  eddy  occupies 
A  certain  space  and  time  in  revolution. 
The  First  Birth  was  the  centre  of  the  Earth  ; 
The  Last  Birth  is  the  finite  first  whirl  still 
Involving  and  evolving  ouiward  from 
Its  starting  point  — 

It  is  the  Thought  that  gleam- 
Along  the  blade  of  the  horizon  and  his  vision, 
That,  as  the  earth  goes  round  and  round,  bisects 
The  finite  Past  from  out  the  Infinite  — 
The  Future  —  God  !  — 

The  Heav'n  of  The  Last  Man  ! 


The  Thought  of   The  Last   Man   a   Thought  of 

Heaven  ! 

The  farthest  evolution  from  the  centre. 
The  nearest  evolution  unto  God  — 


THE   LAST    MAN.  293 


The  finite  soul  of  the  Last  Man, 

A  Soul 
Evolving  with  existence  into  God ! 

His  brothers  aggregate  the  wedge  of  Life 

That  heads  with  him,  the  highest  type  of  Man, 

And  points  at  the  horizon  in  the  whirl 

That  simulates  the  centre  of  the  earth ; 

Or  heads  within  him  as  a  whole,  and  points 

At  a  cell-centre  whirling  in  his  blood  ; 

Or  heads  within  him  as  he  stands,  the  Last, 

And  points,  back  in  the  Past,  at  the  First  Man  — 

The  first  relationship  of  Force  and  Matter 

Involved  in  individuality 

By  eddying  within  the  stream  of  space  — 

The  first-born  son  of  God  — 

Now,  the  Last  Man. 

He  is  the  sum  organic  of  the  World. 
His  beating  heart,  the  rhythm  recurring  of 
The  earth  in  its  compounded  revolution. 
What,  has  been  felt,  within  the  wedge  of  life 
That  heads  in  him,  he  feels  —  and  more :    that 

which 

Is  severed  from  the  Infinite  by  the 
Revolving  blade  of  his  far-reaching  scythe  — 
The  line  of  the  horizon  and  his  eyes  — 
And  whirled  into  the  vortex  of  his  Passion ; 
And  so,  what  has  been  thought  within  the  Past, 
He  thinks  —  and  more ;  as  round  and  round  the 

earth 

Goes  in  its  triple  whirl,  and  the  long  blade 
Carves  out  the  Finite  from  the  Infinite 
With  an  extending  point, 

In  his  abstraction. 

Ho  !  ho  !  what  thrills  of  bliss  he  feels,  unfelt 

Before  by  any  other  living  thing, 

And  never  felt  again  until  a  form 

Attains  the  point  of  growth  which  he  has  passed  ! 

And  what  bright  visions  of  involving  Heaven, 


294  THE   LAST    MAN. 


Unseen,  before  the  sweeping  scythe  of  sight 
Has  cut  them  from  the  brain  of  God  in  swaths. 
And  mowed  them  in  the  skull  of 

The  Last  Man  ! 

Aye,  the  Last  Man  —  Behold  the  monarch  of 

The  whirling  worlds  innumerable  that 

Have  yet  revolved  within  his  recognition  ! 

Erect  upon  an  arc  of  the  round  earth 

Revolving  in  a  triple  whirl  through  space  — • 

His  eyes  with  the  horizon  on  a  line  — 

The  finger  of  the  dial  on  the  clock 

That  ticks  within  the  heart-beat  in  his  breast, 

And  strikes  — *•  as  strike  it  will,  whene'er  the  maw 

Of  the  revolving  earth  will  be  unfilled 

Within  a  desert  of  diluted  space  — 

When,  dying  both  of  inanition,  Earth 

And  the  Last  Man,  their  decomposing  dust 

Will  be  devoured  by  other  orbs  unknown. 

Then  will  the  clock  have  struck  the  hour  of  Doom, 

And  into  naught  have  vanished  the  Last  Man  !  — 

A  recollection  in 

The  Mind  of  God. 

Unto  himself  no  longer  the  Last  Man, 
But  lo  1  the  thought  of 

The  Eternal  God ! 


INDEX. 


LVDEX. 


Abel  46,  123 

Abele  200 

Abortive  281 

Abstract  20,  41 

Abstraction  293 

Abyss  21 

Acer  rubrum  236 

.Vche  261 

Admired,  the  242-3 

-.E^ialitis  vociferus  206 

After-damp  221 

After-sight  122 

Age  19,  2(3,  37,  66,  140,  2-57,  28 I 

Aim  233 

Air  265,  283 

Air-breath'g  vertebrates  212 

Air-girdled  globe  35 

Alarms  276 

Alder  122,  212 

Algae  228-31 

Aliquippa,  Queen  3) 

Allegheny  City  193,  22-5 

mountains  20-7,  137, 
233 

river  15,  17,82 
Alliance  Furnace  102-4 
Alter,  Dr.  David  226 
Altoona  160 
Ambient  heaven  278 
Ambition  264 
Amethyst  278 
Anemone  nemorosa  169 
Angel  266 
Anguish  108 
Animalculse  256-7 
Ankeny,  Johnny  203 
Anobium  pertinax  224 
Antipodal  types  11 
Anvil,  Voice  of  250 
Apes  214 

Apiscommunis  213 
Apparition  of  thought  12 
Apple  37 
Ar  282 

Arc  of  the  earth  291 
Arch  282 
Archer  261 
Ardor  283 
Argha  282 
Argos  282 
Arian  283 
Ark  282 
Arm  51,  263,  283 
Armstrong,  Col.  John  53-54 
Arrow  21,  283 
Arrow-points,  stone  16 
Art  242-3,  283 
Artery  272 
Askance  23 


Aster  232 
Astronomical  245 

Attention  242 
At  Twelve  O'Clock  255 
Autumn  76,  213,  251 
Autumn  leaves  55,  76,  138, 

139 
Aye  285 

Baby  71,  92.  205,  283 

Bachelor  281 

Back  11,262 

Bag-pipes  56,  62-4 

Baird,  Spencer  F.  211 

Bald  Eagle  70-72 

Bancroft,  George,  23 

Banjo  194,  226 

Bar  37 

Barb  14 

Bastard  163 

Bat  101,  141,  202,  239 

Batteau  26 

Battle  41,  266 

Bayonet  49,  56 

Bandana  270 

Bear  10,  28,  40 

Beard  18,  26,  166,  285 

Beating  of  the  heart  293 

Beauty  148,  241,  273,  288 

Beautiful  River  10,  25,  60 

Beaver  River  92 

Bee  213,  260 

Beech  10 

Beer  270 

Belisarius  109 

Bell  63,  187,  209,  246,  261,  199 

Bell,  book,  and  candle  205 

Bell,  On  a  Ringing  246 

Bellamy,  George  Anne  43 

Beloved,  the  242-3 

Berkley,  John  113-27 

Berries  21 

Bessemer  Steel  38-39 

Bigot,  M.  31 

Biped  281 

Birch-bark  21 

Bird  of  Bouquet  64-65 

Bird's-nest  192 

Birth  292 

Black-damp  224 

Black  Hawk  19 

Blackguard  244 

Blacksmith  250 

Blast-furnace  103 

Blairsville  193 

Blind  and  Seeing  14 

Bliss  33,  24,  293 

Blizzard  271 

Blood,  River  of  9-16 


298 


fXDEX. 


Blood  12,  15,  18.  25,  35.  37,  50, 

64.  71.75-,  92,   94,   101,    107, 

139,  T>8,  184'.    198,  233,  2*S, 

23  i,  24M,  272.  2<  4 
Blood  globule  295 
Blue  27'2 

Blunderbuss  27F 
Blush  23,  117,237 
Boat  272 
Bombs  270 
/{ones  191 
Book -worm  22i 
Boshes  103 
Bouquet,  Bird  of  »>(-•>"> 

Col.  Henry  10,  27,  50 ,, 

62-6 
Boy  71 

Brat-ken  ridge,  II.  H.  23  f 
Braddock.  Gen.  Edward  1<>, 

27.  34,  38-47.  06 
Brad  lock's  Field  36-42 
Bra  Idock,  Grave  of  43 
Braddock's  Gold.  Myth  of 

44-47 

Brsulstreet,  Col.  61 
Brady,  Samuel  1  N-^ 
Brain  294,.  11,  19,  5or  30     151, 

19-i 

Brake  5'j 
Bramble  25S 
Branta  Canadensis  2>S 
Breaker*  284 
Breast  284 

Breeches,  Leather  !>Li 
Bride  247.  288 
Bridge  3S 

Brief  von  Gott  202 
Brigland,  James  7:> 
lirigs  127 

Brison,  James  102 
Bradford  233 
Broad  head,  Gen.  13<t 
Brocken  Spectre  2(51',  208 
Brocklesby,  John  r>2 
Brother  19,  44,  121,  293f  207 
Brook  2-58 
Brugh  201 
Bullet  40,  284 
Buncombe  271          • 
Bushy  Bun,  battle  of  GJ-G4 
Burr  268 
Butcher  173-6 

Butter  lie  Id,  C.  VV.  93,  98,  100 
Hut  ton  wood  10,  198,  200 
Buttniiwood,   Spectre    of 

197-200 
Byron,  Lord  240 

Caboodle  270 
Cain  46,93,  123 
Calamiles  219 

fa  1m  275 

Cambria  county  137 
Campbell  03 

Canal,     Pennsylvania     Uil. 
193,251,273 


Canyon  2So 

Ctsvpillaries  272 

Captives  54 

Carbon iferons  age  212. 

Care  6  i,  200 

( 'ards  277 

Carnage  107 

Carou-e  200 

Cirrier-dove  2.5> 

Casement  274 

Cassin,  John  211 

C:it  40.  204,  208 

Cat-bird  212 

Catfish  90 

Caul  127-37 

Cave  140 

Celeron.  T^ouis  2'i 

Cell-centre  293 

Centennial  269 

Century  plant  271 

Cerebration  290 

Chalcedony  16,  20 

Cban«e  41,  146r  192,  289> 

Chaos  201 

Chapman,  Thos.  J.  16O 

Character,  Her  248 

Charm  202 

Chautauqua  272 

Cheat  River  70 

Cheek  103,  100,  277 

Cheese- box  40 

Chemist  207 

Chert  16 

Cherubim  266- 

Chesterfield.  Lord  55 

Chestnut  Ridge  20,  164,  172", 

233,  200 

Choke-damp  224 
Chicken  52,  209 
Chicken-roost  191 
Child  201,  161 
Children  263- 
Chime  261 
Chin  103,  141 
Chinese  140 
Christ,  Jesus   138,    185,    120, 

163,  283 

Christmas  210 
Cincinnati  193 
Cirsium  lanceolatum  26$ 
Clark,  Gen.  89 
Clark.  Lady  193 
(.'lay  25,  288 
Clay,  Henry  130, 
Clay  ton  ia  Virginica  109, 192 
Clerk,  Commissioners'  172 
Cloud  265,  257,  15 
Clock  183,  294 
Coal  228 
Coal,  Jester  of  Old 

212 

Coal-miner  39 
Coat  of  mail  279 
Cob  170 

Coffee-mill  crusher  3S 
Colchian  land  282 


INDEX, 


Comedy  191 

•I'omet  227 

••Commissioners  172-lOf 
<  'ompass  258,  261 
•Concrete  2i»,  41 
Conemaugh  ^2,  53,  Hid,  l')7, 

•MO 

i  'oniuin  niar'iilutimi  2<>2 
(  onnolly,  l)i-.  John  78-Ko 
Conscience  1(>0 
•Continental  ou.ss  2~J 
Contrecceur  23 
I  on un drum  194 
Converter  39 
'Convict,  Irish.  6" 
Cooper,  Major  111 
•Copper  235 
Copperhead  28 
Cork,      liinu-      ami     .<'«i! 

Crow  19^-0 
•<  'orii-bread  72 
Corpse  72,  259 
•Coronach  2a<> 
•Cosmos  201 
Cotton  272 
•Cough  262 
<.'oulon-Vi liters  3ti 
Counterblast  258 
•Cow  1 74-,  205 
Cradle  281,  283 
Craig,  Margaret  C.  59 
•Craig,  Neville  K,  (>0,  62,  K5 
Cranes  2GS 

Crawford,  Sarah  93-101 
i'rawlord,    William  78,    71, 

83-101 
Creed,  The  Redman's  1^- 

20 

Oreigli,  Dr.  A.  18,  82 
Cressap.,  CoU  Michael  S2 
Crime,  140,  145,  144,  *<> 
Crimson  272 
Cr-ocodile-frogs  2iy 
Croll  219 

Crow  10,  40,  4(i,  225-<» 
Cro-*v,  James  192 
C'ross  138 
Crucible  273 
Cunningham  102 
Curl  146 

Dagger  284 

Dancing  274 

Darkness  14,  279 

Dart  24 

Datura  stramonium  202 

Daughter  (J6,  161,  239 

Day  108,  261,  286 

Day,  Sherman  113,  139 

Dead  beat  271 

Death  15,  89,  199,  213,  223,  240 

243,  255-7,  265-7,  288.  284 
Death-whoop  71,  108, 139 
Decision  233 
Deer  10,  158 
Defeat  107 


Del  a  wares  80,  <«4 
Delight  131,213 
Delirium  tremens  111 
Deli,  Moll  201-2 
Deli.  Sentinel  47-53 
Demon  L,o>  er,  The  239-40 
Descent  198 
1  )esert  of  space  294 
.Despair  14, 81,   104,  109,   Hi 

148,  248,  265,  289 
Destiny  12 

Devil  33,  79,  97,  189,  SjJ 
Devotion  242 
Dew  56,  236 
Diabetes  110     . 
Diamond  235 
Dimple  141,  163 
Dinwiddi-e,  Gov.  27,  3i 
Disease  284 
Discord  255 

Dissolution, -odor  of  209, 215 
Diviner's  rod  203 
Doctors  221 

Deg,  102-4,  110-13,  200,  284 
Dog-sun  107 
Dome  282 
Doom  Jo,  294 
Double  sun  107 
Doubt  i:65,  277 
Dragons  219 
Drake,  E.  L..  228 
Dream  18, 166,  249,  252,  26* 
Dredge  15 
Drudge  48 
Drug  56 
Drum  187,260 
Drunkenness  31,  206 
Dry  Ridge  20 
Duncan,  David  102 
Ducking-stool,  The  82-Si 
Dun  bar  the  Tardy  4,'? 
Duglison,  Dr.  Robley  136 
Dun  more,  P^arl  of  78,  80,  81 
Dun  more,  Fort  7^-79 
Dunrnore's  War  81 
Duprey  23-27 

Duquesiie,  Fort  31-4,  ,57,  59 
Du  Quesne,  Marquis  31-4 
Dust  294 

Eagle  245,  270 
Ear  (  verb)  283 
Ear  (  noun  )  30,  63,  25-5,  262, 

282 
Etirth  19,  30,  218,  243,  265,  283, 

285,  288 

Earthquake  264,  288 
East  11 

Eaton,  S.  J.  M.  59 
Echo  43 

Economy  139-40 
Eddy  291-4,  276 
Edgar       Thomson        Steel 

Works  37 
El  Capitan  264 
Elephant  271 


300 


INDEX. 


Elizabeth  town  127 

Flesh-fly  46 

Elliot,  Capt.  Win.  110 

Flint  16,  241 

Elysium  266 

Flood  287 

England  29,  34,  86-7.  212 

Flush  237 

Environment  61,  290 

Fob  49 

Eon  ids  243 

Fool  214 

Epigram  238,  240 

Foot  224 

Epilepsy  183 

Foot-  page  32 

Epitaph  240 

Forbes,  Gen.  John  1<>,  27.5r>. 

Error  41 

57,  62 

Erdspiegel  202 

Force  and  Matter    13.    2(56, 

Kstaing,  Compte  d'  31 

281.  286,291-4 

Evans,  111 

Ford  37 

Evening  237,  278 

Foreman,  Charles  85 

Kvil  79,  87,  94,  189,  261 
Evolution  2^3,  290-4 

Fore-sight  122 
Forest  9,  27,  37,  76,  288 

Excise  Law  113-27 

Form  of  beauty  273 

Existence  292 

Fort  captured  62 

Eye  13,  30,  45,  63,  66,  106,  142. 

Fort  Cumberland  43 

146,166,179,  181,  191.  197, 

Fort  Dun  more  76,  78-9 

227,  235-7,  255,  261,  272,  277, 

Fort  Dumiesiie  :-'l-4,  57   59, 

281-2 

129 

Eye-ball  18 
JEy  e  and  Imagination  238 

Fort   Diiqiiesne,    Legend 

of  47  -53 

Eye-  lashes  279 

Lort  LaFayette  110 

Eye-teeth  271 

Fort  Ligonier  58 

Fort  Machault  27,  59 

Face  284 

Fort  Necessity  36 

Faith  56 

Fort  Niagara  59 

False  248 

Fort  Pitt  5-"),  59 

Fame  55,  264 

Fossils  9-17 

Fancy  198,  265 

Foster,    Stephen    C.      193, 

Fanny's  Wood  251 

2256 

Fate  41,  108,  247 

Foundry  273 

Father  19,  44,  71,  92,  121,  161 
Fawcett,  Thomas  40,  42 

Fourth  of  July  Alterna 
tive  245 

Fawn  25 

Fox,  the  Ominous  90-  1 

Fay  261 

Fox  158 

Fayette  county  140,141 

France,  Lily  of  23-27 

Fealty  266 

France  127 

Fear  264,  266 

Preeport  193,  226 

February  ?3 

French  war,  the  87 

Felspar  21 

French  in   America,  23-27, 

Fen  22,  219 

29,  31-34 

Fern  219,  278 

Frick,  H.  Clay  233 

Feudal  tower  265 

Friction  260 

Fiber  zibethicus  209 

Friedenstadt  92 

Fiddler  of  Time  285 

Friendship  262 

Fiends  123,  260 

Frog  220 

Fiddlers  109,  213 

Frost  76 

Fife  187,  260 

Fucus  228-31 

Findley,  Wm.  105 

Fun  267 

Finger  263 

Fungus  217 

Finite  291-4 

Furnace  103-4 

Fire  11,  13,  16,  202,  259,  26-5, 

Fur-trade  34 

284,  287 

Future  11.  291-4 

Fire-bird  167 

Fire-damp  221 
Firefly  265,  280 

Gad-fly  181 

Gage,  Gen.  80 

Fire  in  Pittsburgh  228 

Gain,  greed  of  47 

Fire,  St.  Elmo's  52' 

Galleys  127 

Fir  tree  9 

Gallitziu,  Prince  1:57-8 

Fist  292 

Gambler  142 

Flag  52 
Flaget,  Father  137 

Gangway  103 
Gauntlet  26-5 

Flesh  273 

Gayety  277 

INS)  EX. 


301 


•Genii  260 

George  III.  72,  74 

Ghost    25,    190,    IPS,    217,  '.Ml, 

279 

<. host  of  Philip  Rogers  HI 
Gibfton.  Col.  John  81,86 

(Jii  I.V,   Sin-on,  to   Colonel 

Crawford  93-100 
<;ist.     Bold      ('lirUtorlKT 

27-29 

Gist,  Thomas  7(i 
Glade  43,  56,  111 
Glaive  26") 
Glamour  272 
Glass  226-8 

Glen  HI 

Glory  33 

Gnadenhiitten  88,91-3 
Gnadeiihiietten,      Mallet 

of  91-3,  96 
Goblin   260 
God  20,72,75,   79.   93,   97,   98, 

109,  1X9,  261,  206,  282,  291-4 
God,  man  of  57 
Gods  of  the  Redman  19-22 
Gold,  Braddock's  44-17 
Gold  202.  227.  235,  2(56 
Golden  fleece  282 
Good  36,  79,  87,  94,  189,  261 
Goose  111,  2X8 
Gossamer  274 
Gotthold. . I.  Newton  105 
Gourd  220 
Gout  264 

Grace,  L.ove'8  Holy  23<i 
Grandmother  237 
Grandsire  44,71,92,  127 
Grant,  Major  56,  63 
Grave  26,  35,.  43,  63,   263,   26,"), 

281 

Grapeville  Ridge  20 
Graveyard         Grotesques 

240-1 

Gray  hairs  217 
Greece  282 
Greed,  grave  of  133 
Greed  236 
Green  287 
Green  county  141 
Greensburg  73,  212,  251 
Grief  148 

Grose,  Francis  251 
Grotesques,       Graveyard 

240-1 

Grudge  48 
Guitar  262 

Gulf  of  the  Giver  16,  101 
Gully  39 

Gnyasoolha  60-62 
Guyasootha's  War  87 

Had  I  Wist  29 

Hail  89 

Hair  24,  51,  66,  92,   126,   142, 

151,  166,  217,  235 
Halket,  Sir  Peter  40,  42 


Ha  1  isi  etti  s  Lowe  .<•( •}  1  \ a  1  c  s 
245 

Halket  62 

Halidom  24,  218 

H»lo  261 

Uaise  117 

Hiininmelis  Vlrgiiiinna  20:' 

Hammock  277 

Hand  66 

Hand,  earth -freed  11, 16 

Hands  clapped  283 

Hanna,  Robert  73,  74 

Haiinastowu  61.  62,72-78  J>;i 
84-86 

lliiiiuastoivii ,  Heroine  of 
101-2 

Haro,  C.  I.  26 

Harlot  244 

Harmony  Society.  139-40 

Harporhyiichus  rulus  22»'» 

Harper  of  Death  255 

Harrison,  8arah  93-101 
Gen.  Win.  20 
Mai.  Win.  100 

Httrvcst  200 

Haste  94 

Hank  26(» 

Hay  267 

Hat  31 

Hate  !'8,  122,  252 

Haze  278 

Hazel  202 

Haunted  MOM,  The  110- K? 

Head  15,  34,  51,  81,  244 

Headless  Heart,  The  170- 

Head  of  Iron,  The,  See 
Forbes 

Heart  15,  24,  28,  30,  34,  35,  41, 
64,  66,  81,  94,  106.  227-8, 
24 1 .  24 1 ,  ^C3,  277  '79  281 
293 

Heart  a  Braddock  41  a  Hal 
ket  41 

Heart  Entombed.  TU«- 
237 

Heart,   The  Headless  170- 

Heatii  28,56,  89,140 

Heaven  18,  30,  35.  39,  98,  10! 
108,  117,  168,  215,  266,  288, 
292-3 

Hebrew  18,  282 

Hell  18,30,  35,  39.  46,  69,  7.",, 
98,104,  108,  123,  129,  161, 
168,  215.  244,  265,  289 

Hell,  The  Hoary  Old  He 
ro  of  141-60 

If  el  met  265 

Hematite  201 

Hemlock  (Abies)  20, 138 

Hemlock  (  Conivm  )  202 

Hermit  Crahs,  Literary 
245 

Hero  101 

Hickory  177,  191 

Highest  type  293 

Highlanders  62-5 


302 


INDEX. 


Highway  of  life  166 

Hill,  A.  F.  141,  192 

Hindo  282 

Hindoo  Sage  256 

Historians  34 

Hoar-frost  260 

Hobbies  264 

Hog  284 

Hoi  croft,  John  115 

Holkar,  John  103 

Holy  Essence  266 

Homage  266 

Honesty  122 

Hope  265 

Horizon  291-4 

Horrell,  John  110 

Horror  51,  123.  1 13 

Horse  205,  258 

Horseshoe  202 

House- snake  191 

Howard,  William  77-s 

Hub  55 

Huffnagle,  Michael  101 

Hug  34 

Human  286 

Humanity  226,  227 

Humility  265 

Humor  194 

Hunter  104 

Hunter,  Col.  Samuel  ss 

Hunter,  Col.  Robert  110-13 

Husband  and  wife  15,  16 

Husk  272 

«I"  283 

Ice  9-16,  83,  198,  236,  259 

Icicle  287 

Idea    vs    the    eye    18,     137, 

107,  124-27 
Idol  282 
Ignorance  24 
Imagination  and  the  Eye 

238 

Immortality  58,  82,  282 
Immortelle  247 
Incomprehensible  283 
Inanition  294 
Indecision  232 
Independence.  American 

86-7 

India  282 
Indians  10.  29,  53,  55,  60,  70, 

87.  202 

Indian -pipe  192 
Indian  Summer  76,  138,251 
Individuality  281,  292 
Involution  291-4 
Infamy  107 
Infant  283 
Infinite  291-4 
Infinity  272 
Ingot  38 

Ingratitude  49,  186 
Ingratitude     of     Republic 

105-9 
Inquisitor  264 


Insanity  1  '4-7 

Ireland  SH-7 

Irish  CoiiA-ict,  The  67-70 

Iron  102-4,  201 

Iron-horse  38 

Isabel  239 

Isabel  Dell  47-53 

Israel,  lost  tribe  of  18 

Irvine,  Gen.  Wm.  89,99 

Izard  271 

"Jack"  283 

Jackson,  Andrew  19 
Jackson,  R.  M.   S.  191,200 

201-2,  223,  '/26 
Jacobs,  Captain  53 
Jail  170 
Jailer  170 
Jasper  16,  20,  24 
Jealousy  32 
Jeanot  and  Jeanette  23 
Jehovah  2X> 
Jefferson,  Thomas  16 
Jester  of  Old  Kins  Coal 

212-24 
Jew  264 

Jewels  I  Prize  235 
Jew  spectacled  18 
Jim     Crow,    King    Cork 

and  192 

JimsoH  weed  202 
"John"  283 
Johnson,  Andrew  25-5 
Johnston,  Gen.  60 
James  59 
William  160 
Jolift;  Luke  76 
Jones,  William  R.  38,  42 
Jossakeed  169  192 
Joshua  243 
Jove  205,  266 
Joy  100,  I'M,  140,  181,  266 
Judges  90 
Judgment  Day  211 
.1 11  moii  v i  11  «•.  Grave  of  35- 

36 

June  122 
Juniata  54 

Katy-Did  248 

Keg  2a5 

Kelp.  King  of  228-31 

Kelpie  260 

Key  33 

Killdeer  206 

Kincaid,  James  84-6 

King     Cork      and     Jim 

Crow  192 
King,  Dr.  A.  T.  212 
King  of  serpents  180-92 
King  of  the  Kelp  228-31 
Kirchoff,  Professor  227 
Kiskiminetas  22,  53 
Kiss  33,  89,  147-8,  166, 175, 207, 

235-7,  244-6,  249,  252,  285 
Kiss,  Last  of  Love  246 


INDEX. 


303 


Kit ta  1111  in;;  53-4 
Knight,  Dr.  John  93 
Knout  201 
Kiihleborn  19S 

Lady,  Letter  to  242-3 
Lady  of  Life  288 
Lady's     Lament,      Love- 
Loni,  235 

La  Kayette,  Fort  110 

Lake  258,  272 

Lament,  Lochry's  88-90 

Lament,  Love-lorn  La 
dy's  2,55 

Lamp,  Slave  of  the  228-31 

Lash,  the  73-8 

Last  292 

Last  Kiss  of  Love  216 

Last  Man,  The  291-4 

Last  of  the  Mammoths 
9-17 

Laughter  32, 194,  262,  275 

Laura  285 

Laurel  Hill  20,  164,   179,  203 

Lava  103 

Law-abiding  man,  the  119 

Laws  72 

Lawsuit  238 

Lawyers  9'J,  221 

Lead  186 

Leaf  5-i,  147,  257,  272 

Leaf-mould  20 

Lear,  King  198 

Leather  272 

Leather  Breeches  90 

Lechery  48 

Ledger  of  life  217 

Lee,  Gov.  116 

Leg  51,  265 

Legend  of  Weeping  Wil 
low  2-50-4 

Leghorn,  Port  of  129 

lie  man  47 

Lenore  2i5 

Lemoyne,  Captain  47-53 

Leper  284,  288 

Lesley,  Peter  201 

Let  ter  from  God  202 

Letter  to  a  Lady  212-3 

Liar  210.  244 

Life  88,  138 

Light  88,  138 

Lightning  21,  28,  39,  51,  101, 
143,  205,  258,  265.  276,  287 

Ligonier  59,  164,  203 

Lily  119 

Lily  of  France  23-7 

Limners  278 

Limpet  252 

Lion  56 

Lip  142,  272 

Literary  Hermit  Crabs 
245 

Little  Hatchet  270 

Lizard  265 

Loathing  33 


Lochry,  Archibald  88-90 

Lochry's  Lament  88-90 

Logan,  James  81 

Logan,  the  Mingo  81-2 

Logos  201 

Loon  54 

Lord,  the  26t> 

Loretto  137 

Lost  tribe  of  Israel  18 

Louisiana,  23-7,47-53 

L*>uis  XIV  23 

Louis  XV  32,  47 

Love  58, 100,  101,  117,  196,  205, 
233,  235-7,  212,  244,  252, 
26J 

Love,  Last  Kiss  of  246 

Love-lorn  Lady's  La 
ment  255 

Love  or  Lucre  34 

Lover  23 

Lover,  The   Demon  239-40 

Love's  Holy  Grace  236 

Love's  Rule  of  Three  247 

Love,  Washington  in  58 

Loving  and  Longing  238 

Loyal  hanna  58-9 

LoysLhanua  105-6 

Lucre  3t 

Lungs  284 

Lust  31-J,  47-52,  147-9,  249, 
284 

Lute  262 

Lyell,  Sir  Charles  212 

Lynx  28,  53 

«  M  »  283 

Machault,  Fort  27 

Mad-dog  109 

Magazine  31 

Maggots  40,  46 

Mahoning,  Maid  of  231-2 

Maid  237-8 

Maid  and  Mirage  164-9 

Maid  of  Mahouiug  231-2 

Male  and  female  281 

Mallet  91-3 

Mallet    of     Onadenhuet- 

ten,  The  91-3,  9o 
Mammoth-hunter  9-17 
Mammoths,  Last  of  9-17 
Man  19,  189,  214,  233,  258,  281, 

286 

Man  and  Mammoth  9-17 
Man  and  wife  15 
Man  and  woman  15-6,  141, 

166 

Manhood  198,  263 
Manito  of  Redman  20-2 
Man-of-war  263 
Man,  the  Allegheny  15 
Man,  to  Yon  241 
Maple  236 

Marmie,  The  Fate  of  102-4 
Marriage  159 
-  Mars  39 
Marshes  22 


INDEX. 


Marsh -gav  224 

Mary,  Holy  2*3 

Mast  203 

Masterson,  Pat  John  73 

Mastodon  0,  16 

Matin -bell  13x 

Maternity  2>3 

Matter  267,  281,  286,  291-1 

Matter  and  force  13. 

Maud  L'73,  283 

May  212 

MeCletn's  Ford  70 

McUormick,  Judge  iH 

M^Cullougb,  John  17,22.  59, 

99,  2i)0 

McKay,  ^.neas  .79 
McKenxie  63 

"*l<  a  son .  Sa  in,  tlie  Robber 
Melancholy  122,  234-'),  246 
Melody  2S:i 
Melody,  Negro  192 
Melons  40 

Memory's  mad-dog  li»9 
Mercer.  Col.  5!»,  62 
Meteor  215 
Mexico,  Gulf  of  -JM 
Meyersaale  202 
Mi  dares  275 
Mifflin,  Gov.  1!6 
Might  SS 
Milk  174T2(>1,  20") 
Milky  Way  256,  281 
Miller's  Fort  102 
Mimus  Carolinensis  2!2,  223 
Mini  us  polyglottua  226 
Mind  26  >,  261,  291 
Miner  39,  214 
Miner's  song  216 
Minstrelsy,  Negro  192 
Mira  237 
Mirage  265 

Mirage,  Tlie  Inlaid  ami  16 1 
Mirror  280 
Mirth  2l:{,  285.  288 
Mississippi  9,  127 
Mist  119,  198,202.  287 
Mockery  18,72 
Mocking-bird  22-5,  239 
Modesty  117 
Mold  of  humanity  273 
Mole  147 
Molehill  11 
Moll  Dell  201 
Monoiurahela  L~>,  17,  36,  42, 

70,  23 1 

Monotropa  uuiflora  192,231 
Monster  ol 
M<x>n  197,  202,   243,   261,   277, 

285 

Moonlight  197,  200 
Moravians  55,88,91 
Morgan,*Gen.  Daniel  76 
Mormon,  Book  of  17 
Morn  237 

Morris,  Robt.  Hunter  S7 
Morrow,  Col.  Robert  2>j 


Mortal  58 

Moss  219 

Mother  19,66.71,92,  121,  16J, 

237,  257,  283 
Mother,  Holy  13s 
Mother-in-law  84.  2 U 
Mother-naked  117 
Motion  273 
Mound- builders  17 
Mountains  28 
Mount  Braddock  27 
Mouth  14L 
Alt.  Pleasant  161 
Mud  3S 
Mullein  18 
Munro  63 

Murder  4o,  72r  140,  141.  149- 
Murderer  277 
Musca  volens  245 
Music  212,  22),   21*;,   262,  274V 

285 

Musk  272 
Musfcrat  209 
Mutineers  131 
My  Eye  and  Betty   Martin 

69 

Mysticism  282 
Myth  15,47,125 
Myth  of  Braddock'*  Qold 

44 

Myth  of  Mammoth  16 
Myth  ol  White  deer  26 

Name  55,  264 

Natal  nook  12 
Nature  and  Art  242 
Necessity,  Fort  36 

New  France,  23,  47 

Negress  286 

Negro  226 

Negro  Melody  192,  225 

Negro  Minstrelsy  192,  225 

Nemesis  123 

Neville,  John  78,  86, 

Nevin,  Robert  P.  92,  191 

New  219 

Newt  202 

Niagara  284 

Niagara,  Fort  59 

Night  108,229,2*7,286 

Nightshade  255 

Night-workers  136 

Nirvani  266 

Noon  237 

North  15 

Norway  263 

Nose  238,  287 

November  141 

Nuttall  223 

Oak  37,  56.  62,  258 
Oak -ivy  28 
Oar  282 

Octobv  r  76,  272 
Ogle,  Gen.  105 
Ohio  9,  20,22 


INDEX. 


305 


Ohio-gheny  233 
Ohio  Pyle  falls  233 
Oh,  I   Would  Love    You 
Alway  237 

Oil  20-J,  24i 
Old  219 

Olii  ivi  iig  Coal,  The   Jes 
ter  of  212 

Old  State  Robber  191,  231 
Oliver,  James  B.  102 
Once,  and  Once  Only    219 

Opossum  191 

Orange  217 

Oratory  81 

Orbs  294 

Orgasm  231 

Ormsby,  John  57,  59 

Orphan  210 

Owl  10,  56,  178,  203,  211,  25S 

Ox  258 

Packsaddle  Gap  197,  200 

Paleface  22,  139 

Panther  28,  108 

Pappoose  88 

Paralysis  162 

Parapet  49 

Pardee  47,  53 

Parnassus  280 

Pair  291 

Passion  244,  284,  293 

Past  11,  279,  291 

Pattern  273 

Peace,  Man  of  58 

Peapp-Pipe  57 

Peach  202,  273 

Pean,  Madame  31 

Pearl  236,  266,  274 

Peas  271 

Penn,  John  88 

Penn,  William  79 

Pestilence  202 

Petroleum  202-3,  228-31 

Phantasy  30,  252,  272 

Philadelphia  211,  212,  268 

Philosophy  219,  281,  289 

Phosphorescence     of    Sea 

256-57 
Pibroch  63 
Picket  41 
Picket,  Luke  73 
Pie  271 

Piegnot,  M.  224 
Pillory,  The  77-78 
Pine  219,  262,  263 
Pit-posts  217 
Pitt,  Port  55 
Pittsburgh  9,  23,  37,  47,  53, 

55,  61,  65,  68,  76,  82,.  J27, 

225,228 

Pitt,  William  51-55 
'  Pipe,  Captain  95,  99 
Pipe  of  Peace  57 
Piper  Lad,  The  62,  61 
Pipes  56 
Pirates  130 


Place  of  Hogs  92 
Plagiarists  215 
Plane-tree  2)3 
Platan  us  o-cidentalis  2)) 
Pleas  in i  Unity  212 
Pleasure  2.J3 
Plutarch  2H  • 

Poesy  274,281,  290 
Poesy  and  Science  223-8 
Poet  211,2*) 
Pontia-i  61.  (52 
Pontiac's  War  87 
Pool  37 

Poplar,  Silver-leaf  198,2:)0 
Pop  ill  i  IK  Alba  20) 
Port  Pitt  117-37 
Post,     Christian       Fred 
erick  5>-53 

Post  to  Pillar,  From  77-78 
Potato  233 
Pouchot,  M.  31 
Powder  67-70 
Praise  231 
Prayer  261,  233 
Prayer,  Man  of  57 
Pt-ecipicj  24 
Pride  41,  101,  103,251,  231 
Prince  of  Oil  2JJ 
Prinos  verticillatus  212 
Printing-office  23) 
Provance,  Wm.  Yard  70 
Proverb  183,  192,  225 
Prow  271 
Pulpit-boy  39 
Pumpkins  271 
Puncheon  163 
Purple  272 
Pyranga  rubra  169 
Pyre  259 

Quadruped  231 
Quartz  16 
Quarry  104 

Rabble  and  Rout  10 

Rack  261 

Rag-baby  271 

Railroad  38 

Rain  $9,  360 

Rainbow  35,  2J6 

Rain-drop  230 

Randolph  Ridge  20 

Rapids  2S1 

Rapp,  George  133-40 

Rat  170 

Rattlesnake  29, 133, 170 

Rattlesnake  bond  170 

Raven  165 

Raw  red  Root  146 

Rebuke  of  the  Sage  256-7 

Recollection  294 

Red  272 

Red- headed      Woodpecker 

64-65 

Red- maple  2:36 
Reed  219 


306 


INDEX. 


Heed.  Joseph  SS 

Heel  2>9 

Reflex  action   1!U 

Religion  282 

Remorse  153 

Revengu  40,  76 

Revolution  v9i-» 

Revolu'ic.n,  The  M),  S7 

I  thus  VMS,  29,  1-W,  2<)2 

Khyme  285 

RhyrnenHud  Jingles  2  is 

Rice,  W.  I).  193-0 

Kiddle  :-12 

Ridj-e  61,  28") 

Uidtrer  172: 

Rigdon   ."Sidney  is 

Right  78,  88,  122 

Knit;  2ol,  277 

Ripe  274 

River  258 

River  of  Blood,  see  Ohio 

Rivers  2S 

Kock  110 

Rockets  -27",  2M 

Rocks  2> 

Royers.  Philip  141-W 

Rose  117.  11'.),  I*!),  277 

Ruby  £i>  . 

Hum  3;).  31 

Rllpp.  I.  1).  OS,  I'M 

Rust  252 

Ruslies  v!l 

Sage,  Kelmke  of  '2"i:i-7 


2tii..2;s 
St.  Clair,  Artliur  7-i,  7J,  S(j, 

iOt-i' 

st.  Clair.  Murray  l'i!l 
St.  K  lino's  Fire  ii'2 
St.  Lawrence  '2-'] 
>>t.  Pien-e,  J^egardeur  de  'J7 
salix  Baby  Ion  ica  21 
Sal  mo  tontinalis  2lo 
Salt,  Salt  Sea  1«0  !) 
Salt-  well  160 
San«l  2-) 
San  dusky  IK) 
Sapling  10 
sargasso,  Sea  of  22S 
Sargent,   Winthrop    i>2,  :>», 

41.4:5 

satiety  :W,  14."> 
Savage  29,  (>-) 
Scales  '21.7 
S<-;t!p   10S 
St-ailp    Preiuiuiu,    Tlu-  S7- 

M,  91 

Scapegoat  4-'5 
Scar  51 

science  201,  2«6 
Science.  Academy  of  212 
Science  and  Poesy  2-/ti  S 
Schooners  127 
Scold,  punishment  of  >2-.si 

Strops  asio  2:IS,  211 


Scorn  (i2 

Scotland  53,  (52,  (17.  80.  tf7 

Scythe  27.  197,  262,  293 

Sea  256 

Sea  of  Eternal  Rest  l(i 

Sea  of  Forever  71 

Sea-rover  266 

Sea- weed  228- 31,  25 > 

Seed  138,267 

Seeing  and  Blind  14 

Selfishness  1J5,  244 

Self-comprehensible  2t)l 

Self-torture  279 

Sensation  293 

Senses,  the  133 

Sequence  292 

Seven  Years'  War  23,  34,  35 

Sexton  267 

Shalt  216 

Sharks  219 

Shaw,  Margaret  101 

Shells  255 

Sherrard,  Robert  A.  100 

Shingis  5:5 

Shins  45 

SI»ip.  The  Spec*  re  127-37 

Shooting-star  245 

Shroud  71,  90 

Shuffle  194 

Signet  ring  261 

Silence  2X9 

Silk  176,272 

Silken  suckling  92 

Silkmoth  139 

Silver  227,  235 

Silvered  sage  92 

Silkworm'.  To  A  218 

Silkworm  139 

Sin  44-7,  161,  160-4,  J02,  2«i7 

Sin.  ship  of  135 

Sister  121 

Skull  40,  260,  285,  291 

Sky  260,  272 

Slave  72.  265 

Slave  of  tlie  Lamp  2.N-231 

Slavery   194 

Slaves  133-7,  225 

Sledge  45,  274 

Sleep  266,  276 

Sleet  89 

Slime  28o 

Slouch  38 

Slover  99 

Small  Potatoes  271 

Smell,  Sense  of  L-ll 

Smile  237,275 

Smith  79 

Smith,  Devereux  79 

Smith,  Elizabeth  84-S6 

Smith,  Father  137 

Smith,  James*  99 

Smith,  Joseph  17 

Smith,  Philip  91 

Smith,  Rev.  Joseph  90 

Snag  52 

Snail  279 


INDKX. 


307 


Snakes  21 

Snow  9,  89,  90,  207,  259 
Somerset  201,  20:5 
Son  of  God  292 
Song -sorceress  262 
Sorrow  218,  2(57 
Soul  127-38,  266,  279,  2SI,   291 
South  15,  52 
Space  293 
Spanish-boot  204 
Spaukling,  Rev.  Solomon  17 
Spear  11 
Spectre  261 

Spectre    of   the     Button- 
wood  197-200 
•Spectre  Ship  of  Port  Pitt 

127-37 

Spectrum  Analysis  22li 
Speed  94 
Spider  170,  236 
Spinster  282 
Spite  122 

Spring  35,  213,  230,  261,  267 
Spring-beauty  169, 19J 
Squash  271 
Squaw  88,  94 
Staff  263 
Stahlstown  1(54 
Star  24,  95,  165,  215,   215,   246, 

256,  281 
Statute  143 
Steal  tli  45 
Steam  25 -i 
Steamboat  37 
Steel  273 

StiiiMou,  Mejjgie  66 
Stobo  62 

Stockley,  Captain  88 
Stolen  sweets  1(56 
Storm  37,  51,  62,   166,   1!  17-3)0 

234,  257.  275-6,  287 
Story  of  Poor  Little   Sue 

2U6 

Stout,  Ebenezer  113-27 
Stout,  Peggy  113-27 
Straw  272 

Stream  of  space  293 
Sty  the  224 
Sublimity  81 
Sue.  Story  of  Poor  Little 

206 

Suicide  145 
Sulphur  204 

Summer  213,236,  243,  2(50, 2S7 
Sum  organic  293 
Sun    19,  71,   95,   107  202,   ±27, 

243,  260,  278,  285 
Sunset  278 
Superstition  201-2 
Sutler  33 

Swamp-maple  236 
Swank,  James  M  103 
Swath  294 
Swoon  276,  289 
Sword  265 
Sycamore  200 


Symbol  277 
Symbolism  272 
Sympathy  170-192 

Taiiuger  169 

Tapestry  2(56 

Tar  and  feathers  113-27 

Tears  101,278 

Teasel  140 

Tecumseh  1!» 

Teeth  264 

Telegiaphy  258 

Telescope  eye  280 

Temperance  206 

Tempest  260 

Ton-it  ion  264 

Thenaropua  lieterodiictylas 

Thew  281 

Thief  77,  202 

Thickets  2S 

Thirst  112 

Thistle  25S 

Thomas,  M.  35 

Thorn  277 

Thorn-apple  202 

Thought  11,  55,  249,  280,  291-4 

Thought,  apparition  of  12 

Thought  of  God  294 

Thrash e"r  226 

Thrush  226 

Thumb-screw  264 

Thunder  21,  :«»,  51,    101,    113. 

265,  276,  287 
Thunder-bolt   13 
Tide  228 

Time  229,  261,  262,- 292 
Time,  Fiddler  of  2S5 
Time,  Lliver  of  15 
Toad  2(55 
Toad-stool  l!»s 
Toast  23,  142 
Tocsin  262 

Tomahawk  39,  107.  13* 
Tomb  237,240 
Tom  tlie  Tinker's   Time, 

A  Tale  of  1 13-27 
Tongue  63 
Tooth  2fi2 

Tooth,  Halkefs  40,  42 
Tooth,  Mammoth's  9,  15 
Totem ic  262 
Toy  177,  272 
Traders,  Indian  67 
Train- boy  38 
Traitor's  tree  12ii 
Tramp  40 
Tteasure-trove  41 
Triple  whirl  of  earth  291 
Troth  148 

Trotter,  Sergeant  III 
Trout  213,  232 
True  248 

Trust  of  Love  276 
Truth  117,  141.262.  290 
Truth,  Man  of  56 


308 


INDEX. 


Turnbull  andMarmie  102 
Turtle  Creek  42,  56 
Tunnel -head  103 
Tusk  13 
Twilight,  62 
Twin  23 

Ubiquity  274,  283 

Undertaker  222,  238 
Undine  198 

Valhalla  £66 

Vampire  of  hell  240 

Vanity  264,  281 

Varmint  79 

Veech,  James  71,93 

Vein  272 

Vengeance  £6,  98,  107 

Venango  26,  59,  228 

Vest  271 

Vice  248 

Victor  261 

Victory  282 

Vines,  a  compass  28 

Violin  274 

Viiginla  78  84 

Virtue  248 

Vise  45 

Visions  £93 

Voice  118,248,262,275 

Voice  of  ilie  Anvil  25<' 

Volcano  288,  103 

Vortical  277 

Vortex  181,  284.  291-4 

Wake  259 

WaJk-aiound  194 

Waltz  276,284-5 

Want  44 

War  58,  262 

Ward,  Ensign  23 

Warblers  258 

War-whoops  21 

Washington  City  255 

Washington,  George  16, 
27,  29,  30-36,  41,  56.  58,  60, 
62,  68,  99 

Washington  (town)  90 

Water  202,  236,  258,  265 

Water-boy  38 

Water-shed  10 

Water-spout  287 

Wax  273 

Wax  figures  204 

Wax- pipe  189,  231-2 

WTayne,  Gen.  Anthony  110 

Wedge  45,  274  282,  293 

Wedge  of  Life  393 

Weeping  89 

Weeping  Willow,  Le 
gend  of  250-4 

Weevil  260 

West  11,87 

Westmoreland  72,  73,  106, 
141, 170 

Wheat  267 


Westmoreland,  Witch  o 

203-5 

Wheel  264 
Whipping-Post.  The  73 

Whirlpool  276 
Whirlwind  21 
Whiskey  67-70,  192 
Whiskey       Insurrection 

113-27 

Whisper  262 

White  and  Red-man  22, 139 
White-damp  224 
White  deer  25-27 
White  Rocks  141-60, 
Widow  210 
Wife  16,149,241,263 
Wild-cat  56 
Wild-fire  27,37 
Wild-goose  268 
Will  233 

Williams,  Polly  141-60 
Williams,  Aaron  139 
Williamson,  Col.  David  88, 

91-3 

Will  o'  the  wisp  287 
Wind  258,260,287 
Wind-flower  169,190 
Wine  140 

Winter  213,  236,  257,  287 
Wisdom  24,  26,  262 
Witch  49,201-2,  203-5 
Witchery  30 
Witchery  of  words  30 
Witch  hazel  202 
\Vitch  of  Westmor eland 

203-5 

Wizard  260 
Woe  101,  290 
Wolf  10,  28,40,  56,  *8,  94 
Womb  21,39,58 
Woman  205,  233,  235,  244, 248, 

273,  281,  285 
Woman,  The  Monongahela 

15 
Woman  at  Whipping-post 

Wonder  143 

Wood,  Alphonso  200,  236 

Woodpecker  64-65 

Worm  265,  299 

Worms  199 

Wrong  78, 122 

Wrath  27, 197 

Yankee  Doodle  270 

Yoni  202 
Yosemite  264 
Youghiogheny  233 
Youghiogheny  county  82 
You  eh,  The   Dare-Devil 

233-4 
Youth  140,198,  231,  262,  263, 

267 

Zomara  255 

Zest  13 


APPENDIX. 


Afin  que  les  honorables  emprises  &  nobles 
auentures  &  faicts  d'armes,  par  les  guerres  de 
France  &  d'Angleterre,  soient  notablem^t  enreg- 
istrez  &  mis  en  memoire  perpetuel,  parquoy  les 
preux  ayent  exe'ple  d'eux  encourager  en  bien 
faisant,  ie  vueil  traicter  &  recorder  Histoire  de 
grand'  louange. —  LES  CRONIQVES  DE  MESSIRE 
JEAN  FROISSART:  PROL: 


THE  BATTLE  BALLADS 

AND  OTHER  POEMS  OF 

SO  UTHWESTEBN 

PENNSYL  VANIA 


AN  APPENDIX  TO 

SOUTHWESTERN  PENNSYLVANIA 

IN 

SONG  AND  STORY 


WITH  NOTES  AND   ILLUSTRATIONS 
B  Y  PR  A  NK  CO  WA  N. 


GREENSBURO,  PA. 

PRINTED  BY  THE  A  UTHOR. 

MDIIILXXV1II. 


Entered/accorcling  to  Act  of  Congress,  in    the  year 
1878,  by 

FRANK  COWAN, 

in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian   of  Congress,  Washing 
ton,  D.  C. 


TO 

DR.  CHARLES  M.  TREE, 

OF  M'ASHINGTON,  D.  C., 

IX   REMEMBRANCE  OF  A  RAMBLE  WITH   H  r  M 
OVER  THE  HISTORIC  HILLS 

OF 
SOUTH WESTKKN  PENNSYLVANIA 

IN  THE 
CENTE  X  N I A  I,    V  EA  R 

OF 

AMERICAN  INDEPENDENCE, 

THIS  VOLUME  IS  INSCRIBED  BY 

THE    AUTHOR. 


PREFACE, 

The  following  poems  are  taken  mainly  from 
two  unpublished  collections  of  the  writer  which 
may  be  designated  as  "The  Battle  Ballads  of 
America,"  and  '"The  Poets  and  Poetry  of  South 
western  Pennsylvania."  With  the  exception  of 
a  ballad  entitled  "  Harmar's  Defeat.1'  detailing 
the  disastrous  results  of  the  expedition  against 
the  Indians  in  1790.  and  a  ballad  recounting  the 
exploits  in  the  West  of  a  certain  John  Scull  of 
Pittsburgh  —  possibly  the  old-time  printer,  but 
more  probably  a  later-day  hero  —  the  following 
pages  contain  all  the  Battle  Ballads  of  South 
western  Pennsylvania  of  which  the  writer  has 
any  knowledge. 


CONTENTS. 


INTROD  UCTOR  Y. 

Pennsylvania  in  1692, 

By  Richard  Frame  321 

THE  FRENCH  WAR, 

1754  —  1759. 
Juiiioiwille, 

By  M.  Thomas  320 

Peter  Mercier, 

From  the  Pennsylvania  Ga/.ette  32s 

Awaiting  Braddock, 

From  the  Pennsylvania  Gazette 32!) 

Braddock's  Rally, 

By  a  Contemporary  Poet  32!i 

Braddock's  Defeat, 

By  a  Contemporary  Poet 331 

The  CJrave  of  Braddock, 

From  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  !3:> 

Braddock's  Deserters, 

From  the  Gentleman's  Maga/ine  333 

Ode  to  the  Inhabitants  of  Pennsylvania, 

From  the  Pennsylvania  Gazette  33) 

LORD  DUNMORJE'N  WAR, 

1771. 

The  Battle  of  Point  Pleasant, 

By  a  Contemporary  Poet 337 

THE  REVOLUTION, 

1775  —  1783. 

The  Pennsylvania  Song, 

From  Dunlap's  Packet  t 33»i 

The  King's  Own  Regulars,  (  Braddoek, ) 

From  the  Pennsylvania  Evening  Post  33* 

The<Battle  of  Trenton,  (St.  Clair,) 

By  a  Contemporary  Poet  341 

Trenton  and  Princeton,  (St.  Clair, ) 

By  a  Contemporary  Poet  343 

The  Battle  of  Princeton,  (St.  Clair,  > 

By  a  Contemporary  Poet  311 

A  Song  for  the  Red- Coats,  (St.  Clair,  j 

By  a  Poet  of  the  Revolution  346 


CCCXV111  CONTENTS. 


The  Fate  of  John  Bnrgoyiie,  fSt.  Clair, ) 
By  a  Contemporary  Poet  


IXDIAX  WARS, 

1782  —  1791. 

Crawford's  Defeat,  1782, 

By  Dr.  John  Knight  ........................................  :{.>; 

Simon  Girty, 

By  an  Unknown  Writer  ................................  357 

Moore's  Lamentation,  1786, 

By  a  Contemporary   Poet  ..............................  ;>57 

Tlie  Massacre  of  the   Moore  Family, 

Another  Version  .............................................  :><>o 

.St.  Cljiir»sDefcaI,1791, 

By  Major  Eii  Lewis  ........................................  361 

Sincl  air's  Defeat, 

Mci  alla's,  <>r  McCanley's  version  .................  3(H 

Tin  Defeat  of  St.  Clair, 

By  William  Munford  .....................................  307 

Miami  —  A  Monody, 

To  the  Memory  of  the  Young  Heroes  who 
fell  at  the  Miami,  under  General  St. 
Clair  ...........................................................  :>>77 


THE   \VH1KKEY  /AWA'A'AY  "/7O.Y. 

1794. 
To  Whiskey, 

By  the  "Scots-Irishman,"   David    Bruce 
To  Alexander  Addison, 
By  the  same 


To  Hugh  Henry  Braclceiiridge, 

By   the  same  ...................................................  385 

To  Alexander  F.  Dallas, 

By  the  same  ....................................................  386 

A  Canny  "Word  to  the  Democrats, 

By  the  same  ....................................................  386 

Whiskey,  ilk  Reply  to  the  Scots-Irishman, 

By  H.  H.  Brackcnrklge  .................................  387 

M1SCELLA  NEO  US, 

1798  —  1810 

To  Albert  Gallatin,  1798, 

By  David  Bruce  ..............................................  :wj» 

Democratic  Doggerel,  1799, 

By  H.  H.  Brackenridge  .................................  393 


CONTENTS.  CCCX1X 

A  Review  of  the  Worthies,  1801, 

By  David  Bruce 39-5 

The  Indian  Chief,  1  SO  1 , 

By  Sally  Hastings  398 

Pleasant  Ohio,  1804, 

A  Song  by  an  Unknown  Writer  402 

Polly  Williams,  ixio. 

By  Samuel  Little  402 

The  Murder  of  Polly  Williams, 

By  A.  F.  Hill  4i)> 

Beaver's   Boots, 

By  John  Greiiier    410 

Handsome  Mary,   the   Lily  of  the   West, 

A  Ballad  of  the  Boatmen  of  the  Ohio  414 

The   Boat    Horn, 

By  William  O.  Butler m 

THE  WAR   OF   IS  12. 

The  Pennsylvania  Line, 

By  a  Contemporary  Poet    4H 

The   Mournful  Tragedy   of  James   Bird, 

By  a  Contemporary  Poet 42J 

Perry's  Victory   on   Lake    Erie, 

Several  Ballads  pertaining  to    I2i 


ERRATA. 


Page  341,  line  21,  for  "  they  had  much  to  brag  of,"  read 
"  they  had  not  much  to  brag  of." 

Same  page,  line 32,  for  "Riveries,"  read  "Rivieres." 

Page 358,  line  10,  instead  of  '•  What  became  of  Miss 
Ivins  is  not  known,  "  reaJ  "  Miss  Ivins  rem  ained.fr  pris 
oner  until  released.   She  stated  to  Fa'nss  Moore,  the  son, 
that  the  burning  of  his  mother  and  sister  was  done  by 
a  band  of  Cherokees  who  were  returning  from  an  excur 
sion  in  which  they  had  lost  several  of  their  party,  and 
not  by  the  Shawnees  who  had  taken  them.  " 

Page  405,  line  5,  for  "their"  read  "  her.  " 


THE  BA  TTLE  BALLADS 

AND  OTHER  POEMS  OF 

SO  UTHWESTERN     PENNSYL  VAN1A. 


PENNSYLVANIA  IN  1692. 


At  the  time  the  follow!  112  poem  was  written  —  the 
first  poem  of  Pennsylvania,  by  ihe  bye,  of  which  there 
is  an  authentic  record  —  the  wilderness  of  Southwestern 
Pennsylvania,  included  by  the  French  within  the  boun 
daries  of  Louisiana,  and  by  the  British  within  the  terri 
tory  of  the  Province  of  Pennsylvania,  was  inhabited 
exclusively  by  the  — 

Naked  Indians,  Cloathed  with  their  Skins, 
who,  in  the  preceding  pages,  were  represented  as  the 
successors  in   this    region    of    the   Mammoth-hunters 
and  the  Mound -builders. 


A  Short  Description  of  Pennsilvania,  or,  A  Relation 
What  things  are  known,  enjoyed,  and  like  to  be  discov 
ered  in  the  said  Province.  By  Richard  Frame.  Printed 
and  Sold  by  William  Bradford  in  Philadelphia,  1692. 


To  all  our  Friends  that  do  desire  to  know, 
What  Country  'tis  we  live  in,  this  will  show. 
Attend  to  hear  the  Story  I  shall  tell, 
No  doubt  but  you  will  like  this  Country  well. 
We  that  did  leave  our  Country  thought  it  strange, 
That  ever  we  should  make  so  good  Exchange : 
I  think  'tis  hard  for  me  for  to  express, 
How  God  provided  in  a  Wilderness, 

arge,  a  wo 

Wolves,  and  Bears  and  P 
Foxes,  Raccoons  and  Otters  dwelleth  here, 
Beside  all  these  the  Nimble  footed  Dear ; 


322  PENNSYLVANIA    IN    1692. 


The  Hare  so  lightly  runs  for  to  escape ; 

Yet  here  are  things  of  a  more  stranger  shape, 

The  Female  Possum,  which  I  needs  must  tell  ye, 

Ts  much  admired  with  her  double  Belly ; 

Trie  Belly  for  her  Meat,  she  hath  beside 

Another  where  her  Young  Ones  use  to  hide. 

O  strauire  !  'tis  hard,  I  think,  fur  me  to  name 

The  Multidudes  of  Beasts,  both  Wild  and  Tame  : 

Beavers  here  are,  whose  Skins  are  soft  as  Silk, 

Horses  to  Ride  on,  Cows  to  give  us  Milk, 

Beside  the  Beasts,  whose  Nature  is  so  Rude, 

To  speak  of  them,  I  think  I  must  Conclude. 

As  for  the  Flocks  of  Fowle,  and  Birds,  pray  mind, 

The  Swans,  and  Geese,  and  Turkeys  in  their  kindr 

The  Turkey- Buzzard  and  Bald  Eagle  high, 

Wild  Ducks,  which  in  great  Companyes  do  fly  ; 

More  sorts  of  Fowle  here  are  than  I  need  tell, 

Yet  here  are  other  things,  which  do  excell. 

The    Fields,  most  fruitful,    yield    such  Crops  of 

Wheat, 

And  other  things  most  excellent  to  eat, 
As  Barley,  Rye,  and  other  sorts  of  Grain  ; 
In  peace  we  plow,  we  sow,  and  reap  again, 
Good  Indian  Corn,  which  is  a  larger  breed, 
[t  doth  our  Cattle,  Swine,  and  Horses  feed, 
Buck- Wheat  and. Oats,  beside,  good  store  of  Reed, 
A  plentiful  Land,  0  plentiful  indeed, 
For  Plants,  and  Roots,  and  Herbs,  wee'l  let  them 

be, 

To  name  the  Fruit  that  grows  upon  each  Tree: 
The  fruitful  Trees  do  flourish,  and  are  green, 
Where  Apples,  Peaches,  Quinces,  Plumbs  are  seen, 
With  other  fruits,  whose  glittering  faces  shine, 
The  Grapes  grow  plenty  on  the  fruitful  Vine  ; 
Wall-Nuts,  Chestnuts,  Hazel-Nuts  appear, 
These  things  are  plenty  with  us  every  year. 
More  things  I  can  relate,  for  all  is  true, 
And  yet,  not  give  the  Country  half  his  due. 
Also,  here  is  of  divers  sorts  of  Fish, 
So  good,  so  pleasant  as  a  man  need  wish, 
Within  our  Rivers,  swimming  to  and  fro, 


PENNSYLVANIA    IN    1692.  323 

Crreat  ones  we  catch,  but  small  ones  let  them  go. 
Here  are  more  things  than  I  can  well  express, 
Strange  to  be  seen  in  such  a  Wilderness. 
By  Day  we  work,  at  Night  we  rest  in  Peace, 
So  that  each  Day  our  Substance  doth  increase  : 
O  blessed  be  his  Name,  who  duth  provide 
For  you,  and  us,  and  all  the  World  beside. 

The  first  part  that  I  writ  is  good  indeed, 
But  yet  perhaps  the  second  may  exceed  : 
The  Truth  in  Rhyme,  which  I  do  here  compose, 
It  may  be  spoken  thus,  as  well  as  Prose  ; 
Therefore  unto  my  words  once  more  attend  ; 
Here  are  more  Properties  T  shall  commend. 

The  Riches  of  this  Land  it  is  not  known, 
What  in  the  after  Ages  may  be  shown ; 
My  words  are  true,  for  here  were  lately  found 
Some  Precious  Mettle  under-neath  the  Ground, 
The  which  some  men  did  think  was  Silver  Oar, 
Others  said  Copper,  but  some  think  'tis  more. 
They  say  there  is  a  vein  of  Lead  or  Tin, 
Where  choicer  Mettle  lodgeth  furthur  in  : 
So  divers  men  have  divers  judgements  spent, 
And  so  the  matter  lies  in  Argument. 
If  men  would  venture  for  to  dig  below, 
They  may  get  well  by  it,  for  ought  I  know ; 
Those  Treasures  in  the  Earth  which  hidden  be, 
They  will  be  good,  whoever  lives  to  see. 
A  certain  place  here  is,  where  some  begun 
To  try  some  Mettle,  and  have  made  it  run, 
Wherein  was  Iron  absolutely  found, 
At  once  was  known  about  some  Forty  Pound. 

We  know  no  end  to  this  great  Tract  of  Land, 
Where  divers  sorts  of  -Timber  Trees  doth  stand, 
As  mighty  Oaks,  also,  here's  Cedars  tall, 
And  other  sorts,  'tis  hard  to  name  them  all, 
The  strong  Hickery,  Locust  and  lofty  Pine. 
'Tis  strange  to  see  what  Providence  divine 
Hath  in  this  World  ordained  for  to  be, 
Which  those  that  live  at  home  do  never  see 


324  PENNSYLVANIA    IN    1692. 


I  also  give  you  here  to  understand 
What  People  first  inhabited  the  land  : 
Those  that  were  here  before  theStoeeds  and  Fins, 
Were  Naked  Indians,  Cloathed  with  their  skins, 
Which  can  give  no  account  from  whence  they  came; 
They  have  no  Records  for  to  shew  the  same  ; 
But  I  may  think,  and  others  may  suppose 
What  they  may  be,  yet  I  think  few  men  knows, 
Unless  they  are  of  JEsati's  scattered  Seed, 
Or  of  some  other  wild  corrupted  Breed. 
They  take  no  care  to  plow,  nor  yet  to  sow, 
Nor  how  to  till  their  Land  they  do  not  know, 
Therefore  by  that  we  may  observe  it   plain, 
That  this  can  hardly  be  the  Seed  of   Cain; 
Some  men  did  think  they  were  the  scattered  Jews, 
But  yet  I  cannot  well  believe   such  News : 
They  neither  do  New  Moons  nor  Sabbath  keep, 
Without  much  Care  they  eat,  they  drink,  they  sleep  ; 
Their  care  for  Worldly  Riches  is  but  light, 
By  Day  they  hunt,  and  down  they  lie  at  Night, 
Those  Infidels  that  dwelleth  in  the  Wood, 
I  shall  conclude  of  them  so  far  so  good. 

You  that  will  seek  a  Country  strange, 

Attend  to  what  is  true, 
All  that  are  willing  to  Exchange, 

An  Old  place  for  a  New. 
We  that  our  Country  did  forsake, 

And  leave  our  Native  Land, 
Will  do  the  best  we  can  to  make 

Our  Neighbours  understand. 
Although  I  have  a  good  intent, 

Yet  hardly  can  express, 
How  we,  through  Mercy,  were  content 

In  such  a  Wilderness. 
When  we  began  to  clear  the  Land, 

For  room  to  sow  our  Seed, 
And  that  our  Corn  might  grow  and  stand, 

For  Food  in  time  of  Need, 
Then  with  the  Ax,  with  Might  and  Strength, 

The  Trees  so  thick  and  strong, 


PENNSYLVANIA    IN    1692.  325 

Yet  on  each  side,  such  strokes  at  length. 

We  laid  them  all  along. 
So  when  the  Trees,  that  grew  so  high. 

Were  fallen  to  the  ground, 
Which  we  with  Fire  most  furiously 

To  Ashes  did  Confound. 
Then  presently  we  sought  for  Wood, 

I  mean  (not  Wood  to  burn, 
But  for)  such  Timber,  choice  and  good, 

As  fitted  well  our  turn. 
A  city,  and  Towns  were  raised  then, 

Wherein  we  might  abide. 
Planters  also,  and  Husband-men. 

Had  Jjand  enough  beside. 
The  best  of  houses  then  was  known, 

To  be  of  Wood  or  Clay, 
But  now  we  build  of  Brick  and  Stone, 

Which  is  a  better  way. 

The  Names  of  some  of  our  Toicns. 

Philadelphia,  that  great  Corporation, 
Was  then,  is  now  our  choicest  Habitation, 
Next  unto  that  there  stands  the  German-  Town 
Also,  within  the  Country,  up  and  down, 
There's  Haverford,  where  th'  Welch-men  do  abide, 
Two  Townships  more,  I  think,  they  have  beside: 
Here's   Bristol,  Plymouth,  Aeivtown,  here  doth 

stand, 

Chester,  Springfield,  Marple  in  this  land, 
Darby,  and  other  famous  Habitations, 
Also,  a  multitude  of  New  Plantations. 

The    German-  Toion^  of  which   I  spoke  before, 
Which  is,  at  least,  in  length  one  Mile  or  More, 
Where    lives  High-  German   People,    and    Low- 
Dutch, 

Whose  Trade  in  weaving  Linnin   Cloth  is  much, 
There  grows  .the  Flax,  as  abo  you  may  know, 
That  from  the  same  they  do  divide  the  Tow ; 
Their  Trade  sits  well  within  their  Habitation, 
We  find  Convenience  for  their  Occupation, 


326  JUMONVILLE. 


One  Trade  brings  in  employment  for  another, 
So  that  we  may  suppose  each  Trade  a  Brother  ; 
From  Linnin  Rags  good  Paper  doth  derive, 
The  first  Trade  keeps  the  second  Trade  alive : 
Without  the  first  the  second  cannot  be, 
Therefore  since  these  two  can  so  well  agree, 
Convenience  doth  approve  to  place  them  nigh. 
One  in  the  German-  Town,  'tother  hard  by. 
A  Paper  Mill  near  German-  Town  doth  stand, 
So  that  the    Flax,  which  first  springs  from  the 

Land, 

First  Flax,  then  Yarn,  and  then  they  must  begin. 
To  weave  the  same,  which  they  took  pains  to  spin. 
Also,  when  on  our  backs  it  is  well  worn, 
Some  of  the  same  remains  Ragged  and  Torn  ; 
Then  of  those  Rags  our  paper  it  is  made, 
Which  in  process  of  time  doth  waste  and  fade : 
So  what  comes  from  the  Earth,  appeareth  plain, 
The  same  in  Time  returns  to  Earth  again. 

So  much  for  what  I  have  truly  Comps'd, 
Which  is  but  a  part  of  what  may  be  disclosed. 
Concluding  of  this  and  what  is  behind. 
I  may  tell  you  more  of  my  Mind ; 
But  in  the  mean  time  be  content  with  this  same, 
Which  at  present  is  all  from  your  Friend 

RICHARD  FRAME. 


—  1754  — 

JUMONV1LLE. 


Insomuch  as  he  was  taken  by  surprise,  the  French 
insisted  that  Jumonville's  death  was  not  only  a  base 
act,  but  a  cowardly  assassination  ;  and  for  years,  even 
down  to  our  own  times,  their  authors  have  continued  to 
misrepresent  the  occurrence,  and  to  do  an  injustice  to 
him  who  was  incapable  of  acting  unjustly  to  another. 
Chief  among  them  was  M.  Thomas,  an  accomplished 
litterateur  of  the  day,  and  a  member  of  the  Academy, 
who,  in  1759,  published  his  "  Jumonville,"  a  lengthy 
poem  in  four  cantos,  in  which  he  not  only  painted  the 


JUMONVILLE.  327 

death  of  that  soldier  in  the  most  tragic  colors,  but  tra 
ces  all  the  subsequent  misfortunes  of  the  English  to  that 
unpardonable  act.  His  unseen  shade  is  made  to  stand 
beside  Washington  on  the  ramparts  of  Fort  Necessity, 
freezing  his  blood  with  supernatural  fear,  and  calling 
into  life  poetic  serpents  to  hiss  and  gnaw  within  his 
breast;  or  gliding  through  the  lines  of  his  -brethren 
points  at  his  bleeding  wounds  yet  unrevenged, 

"  and  cries  aloud  —  to  battle ! " 

Pursued  thus  by  the  inevitable  sword  of  an  aveng 
ing  Nemesis,  the  woes  of  the  British  during  the  next 
five  years  —  the  heavy  visitation  of  what  the  poet  is 
pleased  to  consider  retributive  justice,  Is  finely  given  : 
"O  malheureux  Anglais  !"  he  exclaims:  "  Oh,  wretch.- 
ed  people! "—  SARGENT. 


Je  vois,  dans  ses  projets,  votre  audace  trompee, 
Des  flots  de  votre  san£  1'  Amerique  trempee. 
Brad  hoc,  de  vos  complots  sinistre  executeur, 
Des  traites  et  des  lois  sacrilege    infracteur, 
Qui  devait,  en  guidant  vos  troupes  conjurees, 
Au  char  de  1'  Angleterre  enchainer   DOS  contre"es, 
Sur  des  monceaux  de  morts,  perce  de  mille  coups, 
Exhale  ses  fureurs  et  son  ame  en  courroux. 

0  triste  Virginie  !     0  malheureux  rivages  f 

Je  vois  vos  champs  en  proie  a  des  monstres  sau- 


Je  vois,  dans  leur  berceaux,  vos  enfaus  massacres, 
De  vos  vieillards  saoglants  les  membres  dechires, 
Vos  rem parts  et  vos  toits  devores  par  les  flammes. 
La  massue  ecraser  vos  filles  et  vos  femmes, 
Et,  dans  leur  flancs  ouverts,  leur  fruit   infortunes, 
Condanwies  &,  perir  avant  que  d'etre  ne"s. 
Votre  sang  n'eteint  pas  1'ardeur  que  les  devore  : 
Sur  vos  corps  dechires  et  palpitants  encore, 
Je  les  vois  etendus,  de  carnage  souill^s, 
Arracher  vos  chevaux  de  vos  fronts  de'pouille's ; 
Et  fiers  de  ce  fardeau,  dans  leur  mains  triomphantes, 
Montrer  a.  leurs  enfants  ces  depouilles  fumantes. 
Quels  que  soient  les  forfaits  que  nousaient  outrage's, 
Anglais,  peut-etre,  helas,  sommes-nous  trop  venges ! 


328  PETER    MERCIER. 


—  1754  — 

PETER   MERCIER. 


The  following  lines,  from  the  Pennsylvania  Gazette, 
of  October  31,  1754,  published  by  Benjamin  Franklin, 
were  inscribed  "to  the  memory  of  Lieutenant  Peter 
Mercier,  Esq.,  who  fell  in  the  battle  near  Ohio  river,  in 
Virginia,  July  3, 1754  "—  that  is,  in  the  engagement,  be- 
t  ween  the  British  forces,  under  Washington,  and  the 
French  forces  under  the  fiery  Coulon-Villiers.  resulting 
in  the  surrender  of  Washington  and  the  evacuation  of 
Fort  Necessity  :  in  what  is  now  Fayette  county,  Penn 
sylvania. 


Too  fond  of  what  the  martial  harvests  yield  — 
Alas  !  too  forward  in  the  dangerous  fiold  — 
Firm  arid  undaunted,  resolute  and  brave, 
Careless  of  life  invaluable  to  save  — 
As  one  secure  of  fame,  in    battle  tried, 
The  glory  of  Ohio's  sons  he  died. 

Oh,  once  endowed  with  every  pleasing  power 

To  chase  the  sad  and  charm   the  social  hour, 

To  sweeten  life  with  mild  ingenuous  arts, 

And  gain  possession  of  all  open  hearts. 

How  have  thy  friends  and  comrades  cause  to  mourn  ! 

How  wished  they  for  thy  peaceable  return, 

Thy  province  and  thy  household  to  defend, 

And  happily  thy  future  years  to  spend! 

I  hoped  the  fates  far  longer  would  allow 

The  laurel  wreath  to  flourish  on  thy  brow  ; 

I  hoped  to  greet  thee  from  thy  northern  toils 

Elate  with  victory,  enriched  with  spoils  : 

But  now,  alas  !  these  pleasing  dreams  are  fled  ! 

Sweetly  thou  sleep'st  in  glory's  dusty  bed, 

By  all  esteemed,  admired,  extolled,  approved, 

In  death  lamented  as  in  life  beloved. 

(xeorgia,  loud-sounding,  thy  achievements  tell, 

And  sad  Virginia  marks  where  Mercier  fell. 

Ah  !  lost  too  soon  —  too  early  snatched  away 
To  joys  unfading,  and  immortal  day! 


AWAITING   BRADDOCK.  329 

Happy  !  had  thy  duration    been  prolonged 

To  vindicate  the  British  interest  wronged  ; 

Since  none  more  ready  to  defend  its  cause, 

Or  to  support  religion  and  the  laws : 

In  thee  our  royal  sovereign  has  lost 

As  brave  a  soldier  as  his  troops  could   boast. 

If  at  some  future  hour  of  dread  alarms 

When  virtue  and  my  countrv  call  to  arms 

For  freedom,  struggling  nations  to  unbind, 

Or  break  those  sceptres  that  would  bruise  mankind, 

In  such  a  cause  may  such  a  death  as  thine, 

With  equal  honor  merited,  be  mine. 


—  1755  — 

AWAITING  BRADDOCK. 

From  the  Pennsylvania  Gazette,  No.  1360. 


Breathe,  breathe,  ye  winds  ;  rise,  rise,  ye   gentle 

gales  ; 

Swell  the  ship's  canvass,  and  expand  her  sails ! 
Ye  sea-green  Nymphs,  the  royal  vessel  deign 
To  guide  propitious  o'er  the  liquid  main  : 
Freighted  with  wealth,  for  noble  ends  designed, 
(So  willed  great  George,  and  so  the  Fates  inclined.) 
The  ponderous  Cannon  o'er  the  surges  sleep  ; 
The  flaming  Muskets  swim  the  raging  deep  ; 
The  murd'rous  Swords,  concealed  in  scabbards,  sail, 
And  pointed  Bayonets  partake  the  gale  : 
Ah  !  swiftly  waft  her  to  the  longing  shore  ; 
In  safety  land  her,  and  we  ask  no  more  ! 


—  1755  — 

BRADDOCK' S  RALLY, 

"While  both  America  and  England  were  in  a  radiant 
glow  of  enthusiasm  in  anticipation  of  a  pre-determined 
victory,  the  following  battle-call  was  composed  in  Ches- 


330  BRADDOCK'S  RALLY. 


ter  county,  Pennsylvania.  It  is  not  known  by  whom* 
however;  nor  further  about  it,  save  that  it  was  still  a 
favorite  song  in  America  during  the  Revolution  a  quar- 
tel  of  a  century  afterward,  with  the  name  of  Lee  — 
Charles  or  Light-Horse  Harry  —  substituted  for  that 
of  Braddock. 


To  arms,  to  arms  !  my  jolly  grenadiers  f 
Hark,  how  the  drums  do  roll  it  along  ! 
To  horse,  to  horse,  with  valiant  good  cheer  ; 
We'll  meet  our  proud  foe,  before  it  is  long. 

Let  not  your  courage  fail  you  : 

Be  valiant,  stout  and  bold ; 

And  it  will  soon  avail  youT 

My  loyal  hearts  of  gold. 
Huzzah,  my  valiant  countrymen  !  —  again  I    say 

huzzah  ! 

Tis  nobly  done  —  the  day's   our  own  —  huzzah, 
huzzah  I 


March  on,  inarch  on,  brave   Braddock  leads   the 

foremost ; 

The  battle  is  begun  as  you  may  fairly  see. 
Stand  firm,  be  bold,  and  it  will  soon  be  over ; 
We'll  soon  gain  the  field  from  our  proud  enemy. 
A  squadron  now  appears,  my  boys ; 
If  that  they  do  but  stand  ! 
Boys,  never  fear,  be  sure  you  mind 
The  word  of  command  ! 
Kuzzah,    my   valiant   country  men  I    again    I  say 

huzzah  ! 

'Tis  nobly  done  —  the  day's  our  own  —  huzzah, 
huzzah  ! 

See  how,  see  how,  they  break  and  fly  before  us  ! 
See  how  they  are  scattered  all  over  the  plain ! 
Now,  now  —  now,  now,  our  country  will  adore  us  ! 
In  peace  and  in  triumph,  boys,  when  we  return 

again ! 
Then"  laurels  shall  our  glory  crown 


331 


For  all  our  actions  told  : 
The  hills  shall  echo  all  around, 
My  loyal  hearts  of  gold. 
Huzzah,  my  valiant  countrymen  !  —  again  I  say 

huzzah  ! 

'Tis  nobly  done  —  the  day's  our  own  —  huzzah, 
huzzah  ! 


—  1755  — 

BRADDOCK'S  DEFEAT. 


In  November,  1755,  the  following  vei'ses  appeared  in 
either  the  New  York  Gazette  or  the  Weekly  Post  Boy, 
it  is  not  known  now  which. 


THE  DYING  GENERAL  SPEAK&. 

Then,  'tis  decreed  —  the  vain  exulting  Gaul, 
In  these  ill-fated  fields,  beholds  my  fall. 
But. let  not  Britain,  when  she  hears  the  tale, 
In  timid  indolence  my  fate  bewail. 
Oh,  rather  let  her  sons,  unused  to  fear, 
To  women  leave  the  tribute  of  a  tear. 
A  brave  revenge  alone  becomes  the  brave, 
A  brave  revenge  these  dying  heroes  crave. 
See  where  their  mangled  limbs  bestrew  the  field  : 
Firm,  undismayed,  unknowing  how  to  yield. 
Behold  them  with  their  latest  gasp  of  breath, 
Implore  their  country  to  revenge  their  death. 
May  Britain,  then,  let  loose  her  vengeful  ire, 
Redoubled  force  repeated  wrongs  require  ; 
Each  active  hand  with  martial  terror  arm, 
Each  martial  bosom  with  her  spirit  warm. 
So,  haughty  Gaul,  when  her  exploits  she  hears, 
Shall  with  her  ill-starred  triumph  mix  her  fears  ; 
As  midnight  thieves  that,  wrapt  in  vile  disguise, 
Have  made  some  luckless  traveler  their  prize, 
Afraid  of  justice,  drop  the  booty  won, 
And  tremble  for  the  mischief  they  have  done. 
Ill  vain  the  fettered  Gaul  prepares  his  chains, 


332  BRADDOCK'S  DEFEAT. 

For  British  freedom,  even  in  India's  plains. 
Great  George,  born  to  command  the  free  and  brave, 
Shall  break  his  weapons  and  chastise  the  slave. 
My  blood  I  freely  spill ;  rejoiced  to  make 
The  first  libation  for  fair  Freedom's  sake. 
For  as,  in  Greece  of  old.  the  warrior's  meed 
For  liberty,  is  nobly  thus  to  bleed. 

Here  then  I  cheerful  quit  life's  poor  remains, 
For  glory  well  exchanged  in  martial  plains  ; 
In  future  times,  (nor  do  I  boast  in  vain,) 
When  Britain  numbers  o'er  her  warrior.train, — 
When  time  my  errors  shall  obliterate 
And  veil  my  faults  in  pity  to   my  fate, — 
In  the  fair  list,  perhaps,  shall  stand  his  name, 
Who  through  these  regions  showed  the  road  to  fame  ; 
Who  midst  these  pathless  wilds,  and  streams  that 

roll 

From  sources  unexplored,  first  taught  the  Gaul 
That  Britain's  freeborn  sons,  inspired  by  fame, 
Nor  danger  daunts,  nor  toilsome  marches  tame. 

What  though  by  me,  these  ill-starred  heroes  led, 
With  me,  oppressed  by  numbers,  fought  and  bled  ; 
What  though  our  blood  these  barbarous  currents 

dye, 

To  savage  rage  exposed  our  bodies  lie ; 

Yet  still  our  name  a  terror  shall  remain, 

For  length  of  ages  to  the  servile  train. 

Oft  shall  these  warriors'  shades,  who  sullen  rove, 

Along  the  o'er-shadowed  stream  or  twilight  grove, 

Or  o'er  savannahs  drear,  in  dread  array, 

By  moonlight  gleam,  their  marshaled  ranks  display, 

Affright  the  Gaul,  whose  dazzled  fancy  sees 

The  horrid  armor  glittering  through  the  trees,  — 

His  shrivelled  soul  within  him  dies  with  fear, 

Whilst  bursts  of  imaged  cannon  wound  his  ear. 

Nor  will  our  pensive  ghosts  one  comfort  know, 

Till  destined  vengeance   overtake  the  foe  ; 

Till  (servile  Gaul  expelled)  fixed  in  these  plains 

By  British  valor,  British  freedom  reigns. 


BRADDOCK'S  DESERTERS.  333 


—  1775  — 

77/17  GRAVE  OF  BRADDOCK. 


The  following  lines  "on  the  death  of  Gen.  Brad- 
dock,  said  to  be  slain  in  an  ambuscade  by  the  French 
and  Indians,  on  the  banks  of  the  Ohio,  July  9,  1755,"  are 
from  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  for  August,  1755, 
vol.  xxv.,  p.  383. 

Beneath  some  Indian  shrub,  if  chance  you  spy 
The  brave  remains  of  murdered  Braddock  lie, 
Soldiers,  with  shame  the  guilty  place  survey, 
And  weep,  that  here  your  comrades  fled  away. 
Then  with  his  brother-chiefs*  encircled  round, 
Possess  the  hero's  bones  of  hostile  ground, 
And  plant  the  English  Oak,"j~  that  gave  his  name, 
Fit  emblem  of  his  valor  and  his  fame ! 
Broad  o'er  this  stream  j  shall  thus  his  honors  grow, 
And  last  as  long  as  e'er  its  waters  flow ! 


*  His  officers. 

t  Brad  in  old  Saxon-English  is  the  same  as  Broad, 
and  Brad-oke  the  same  as  Broad- oak. 
%  The  Ohio. 


—  1775  — 

BRADDOCK'S  DESERTERS. 


In  the  same  magazine  —  the  Gentleman's  —  for  Sep 
tember,  1755,  vol.  xxv.,  p.  421,  appeared  the  following 
"Apology  for  the  men  who  deserted  Gen,  Braddock 
when  surprised  by  the  ambuscade." 


Ah  !  Braddock,  why  did  you  persuade 
To  stand  and  fight  each  recreant  blade, 

That  left  thee  in  the  wood  ? 
That  knew  that  those  who  run  away, 
May  live  to  fight  another  day, 

But  all  must  die  that  stood. 


334  TO   THE   PENNSYLVAXIANS. 


—  1756  — 

ODE  TO    TEE  INHABITANTS  OF 
PENNSYLVANIA. 


From  the  Pennsylvania  Gazette,  September  30, 


Still  shall  the  tyrant  scourge  of  Gaul 
With  wasteful  rage  resistless  fall 

On  Britain's  slumbering  race  ? 
Still  shall  she  wave  her  bloody  hand 
And  threatening  banners  o'er  this  land. 

To  Britain's  fell  disgrace  ? 

And  not  one  generous  chieftain  rise 
(Who  dares  the  frown  of  war  despise 

And  treacherous  fear  disclaim) 
His  country's  ruin  to  oppose, 
To  hurl  destruction  on  her  foes, 

And  blast  their  rising  fame  ? 

In  Britain's  cause,  with  valor  fired, 
Braddock,  unhappy  chief!  expired. 

And  claimed  a  nation's  tear  ; 
Nor  could  Oswego's  bulwarks  stand 
The  fury  of  a  savage  band, 

Though  Schuyler's*  arm  was  there. 

Stil!  shall  this  motley,  murderous  crew 
Their  deep,  destructive  arts  pursue, 

And  general  horror  spread  ? 
No  !  See  Britannia's  genius  rise  1 
Swift  o'er  the  Atlantic  foam  she  flies 

And  lifts  her  laureled  head  ! 

Lo  !  streaming  through  the  clear  blue  sky, 
Great  Loudon'sf  awful  banners  fly, 

In  British  pomp  displayed  ! 
Soon  shall  the  gallant  chief  advance  ; 
Before  him  shrink  the  sons  of  France, 

Confounded  and  dismayed. 


• 

TO   THE   PENNSYLVANIANS.  335 

Then  rise,  illustrious  Britons,  rise  I 
Great  Freedom  calls,  pursue  her  voice, 

And  save  your  country's  shame  ! 
Let  every  hand  for  Britain  armed, 
And  every  breast  with  virtue  warmed, 

Aspire  to  deathless  fame  ! 

But  chief,  let  Pennsylvania  wake, 
And  on  her  foes  let  terrors  shake, 

Their  gloomy  troops  defy  ; 
For  lo  !  her  smoking  farms  and  plains, 
Her  captured   youths,  and   murdered  swains, 

For  vengeance  loudest  cry. 

Why  should  we  seek  inglorious  rest, 
Or  sink,  with  thougtless  ease  oppressed, 

While  war  insults  so  near? 
While  ruthless,  fierce,  athirst  for  blood, 
Bellona's  sons,  a  desperate  brood ! 

In  furious  bands  appear  ! 

Rouse,  rouse  at  once,  and  bodly  chase 
From  their  deep  haunts,  the  savage  race, 

Till  they  confess  you  men. 
Let  other  Armstrongs^  grace  the  field  : 
Let  other  slaves  before  them  yield, 

And  tremble  round  Du  Quesne. 

And  thou,  our  chief,  and  martial  guide, 
Of  worth  approved,  of  valor  tried 

In  many  a  hard  campaign, 
0  Denny, 1 1  warmed  with  British  fire, 
Our  inexperienced  troops  inspire, 

And  conquest's  laurels  gain  ! 


*  The  victory  of  Montcalm,  at  Oswego,  was  a  disas 
trous  blow  to  the  British.  The  garrison  which  sur 
rendered  comprised  sixteen  hundred  men. 

t  Great  Loudon,  however,  turned  out  to  be  a  blus 
tering  do-nothing,  of  whom  it  was  said,  by  Franklin,  if 
I  mistake  not,  "  he  reminds  me  of  St.  George  on  a  sign  : 
he  is  always  on  horseback,  but  never  advances!  " 


336  THE   PENNSYLVANIA   SONG. 

£  Col.  John    Armstrong,  the   hero   of   Kit-tanning. 
See  page  53.    — 

William  Denny,  Governor  of  Pennsylvania,  com 
mission  bearing  date  May  7th,  1756. 


—  1775  — 

THE  PENNSYLVANIA  SONG. 


The  author  of  this  ballad  is  unknown.  It  appeared 
originally  in  Dunlap's  Packet,  as  the  "Pennsylvania 
March,  to  the  tune  of  the  Scotch  song,  "I  winna  marry 
ony  lad,  but  Sandy  o'er  the  lea." 


We  are  the  troop  that  ne'er  will  stoop 

To  wretched  slavery, 
Nor  shall  our  seed,  by  our  base  deed 

Despised  vassals  be  4 
Freedom  we  will  bequeathe  to  them, 

Or  we  will  bravely  die  ; 
Our  greatest  foe  ere  long  shall  know, 

How  much  did  Sandwich  lie. 

And  all    the   world  shall  know, 

Americans  are  free  ; 
Nor  slaves  nor  cowards  we  will  prove, 

Great  Britain  soon  shall  see. 

We'll  not  give  up  our  birthright, 

Our  foes  shall  find  us  men  ; 
As  good  as  they,  in  any  shape, 

The  British  troops  shall  ken. 
Huzza  !  brave  boys,  we'll  beat  them 

On  any  hostile  plain  ; 
For  freedom,  wives  and  children  dear, 

The  battle  we'll  maintain. 


What !  can  those  British  tyrants  think, 
Our  fathers  crossed  the  main, 

And  savage  foes,  and  dangers  met, 
To  be  enslaved  by  them  ? 


POINT    PLEASANT.  337 

If  so,  they  are  mistaken, 

For  we  will  rather  die  ; 
And  since  they  have  become  our  foes, 

Their  forces  we  defy. 


—  1774  — 

THE  BATTLE  OF  POINT  PLEASANT. 


The  commander  of  the  English  forces  in  the  Battle 
of  Point  Pleasant,  the  decisive  victory  of  Lord  Dun- 
inore's  War,  in  1774,  was  General  Andrew  Lewis,  who 
had  played  previously  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  early 
history  of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania.  He  was  a  cap 
tain  in  the  engagement  at  Little  Meadows,  in  1754;  and 
served  with  distinction  in  the  expeditions  of  Braddock 
and  Forbes.  Washington  entertained  so  high  an  opin 
ion  of  his  military  abilities,  that  when  the  chief  com 
mand  of  the  revolutionary  armies  was  tendered  to  him 
self,  he  recommended  that  it  should  be  given  preferably 
to  his  companion  in  arms  for  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury,  Genera!  Lewis.  His  appearance  was  so  magnifi 
cent,  that  the  Governor  of  New  York,  who  beheld  him. 
at  a  treaty  with  the  Indians  in  1763,  declared  that  "he 
looked  like  the  genius  of  the  forest;  and  that  the  earth 
seemed  to  tremble  beneath  his  footsteps."  The  com 
mander  of  the  Indians  was  the  distinguished  chieftain 
Corn  stalk. 


Let  us  mind  the  Tenth  day  of  October, 
Seventy-four,  which  caused  woe, 

The  Indian  savages  they  did  cover 
The  pleasant  banks  of  the  Ohio. 

The  battle  beginning  in  the  morning, 
Throughout  the  day  it  lasted  sore, 

Till  the  evening  shades  were  returning  down 
Upon  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 

Judgment  precedes  to  execution, 
Let  fame  throughout  all  dangers  go, 

Our  heroes  fought  with  resolution 
Upon  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 


338          THE  KING'S  OWN  REGULARS. 


Seven  s-core  lay  dead  and  wounded 
Of  champions  that  did  face  their  foe, 

By  which  the  hoathen  were  confounded 
Upon  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 

Col.  Lewis  and  some  noble  captains, 
Did  down  to  death  like  Uriah  go  ; 

Alas  !  their  heads  wound  up  in  napkins 
Upon  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 

Kings  lamented  their  mijrhty  fallen 
Upon  the  mountains  of  Grilboa, 

And  now  we  mourn  for  brave  Hugh  Allen 
Far  from  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 

Oh,  bless  the  mighty  Kin<r  of  Heaven, 
For  all  his  woundrous  works  below, 

Who  hath  to  us  the  victory  given 
Upon  the  banks  of  the  Ohio. 


—  1776  — 

THE  KING'S  OWN  REGULARS. 


The  following  song  appeared  in  the  Pennsylvania 
Evening  Post,  March  30th,  177(5,  as  "A  New  Song:  The 
King's  Own  Regulars,  and  their  Triumph  over  the  Ir 
regulars.  To  the  tune  of  'An  old  Courtier  of  the 
C^ueen's,  and  the  Queen's  old  Courtier,'  which  is  a  kind 
of  recitavo,  like  the  chanting  of  the  prose  psalms  in 
cathedrals."  It  contains  an  interesting  allusion  to  the 
Expedition  of  Braddock.' 


Since  you  all  will  have  singing,  and  won't  be  said 

nay, 

I  cannot  refuse,  when  you  so  beg  and  pray; 
So,  I'll  sing  you  a  song,  —  as  a  body  may  say. 
"Pis  of  the  king's  regulars,  who  nerer  ran  away. 

0  the  old  soldiers  of  the  king,  and  the  king's 
own  regulars. 


THE    KING'S    OWN    REGULARS.  330 


At  Prestonpans  we  met  with  some  rebels  one  day, 
We  marshaled  ourselves  all  in  comely  array  : 
Our  hearts  were  all  stout,  and  bid  our  legs  stay, 
But  our  feet  were  wrong-headed,  and  took  us  away. 

At  Falkirk  we  resolved  to  be  braver. 

And  recover  some  credit  by  better  behaviour  ; 

We  would  not  acknowledge  feet  had  done  us  any 

favor, 
So  feet  swore  they  would  stand,  but  —  legs  ran, 

however. 

No  troops  perform  better  than  we  at  reviews, 
We  march  and  we  wheel,  and  whatever  you  choose; 
George !  to  see  how  we  fight,  and  we  never  refuse, 
There  we  all  fight  with  courage  —  you  may  see't 
in  the  news. 


To  Monongahela,  with  fifes  and  with  drums, 
We  marched  in  fine  order,  with  cannon  and  bombs  ; 
That  great  expedition  cost  infinite  sums, 
But  a  few  irregulars  cut  us  all  into  crumbs. 

It  was  not  fair  to  shoot  at  us  from  behind  trees : 
If  they  had  stood  open,  as  they  ought,  before  our 

great  guns,  we  should  have  beat  'em  with 

ease ; 
They  may    fight  with  one  another    that  way,  if 

they  please, 
But  it  is  not  regular  to  stand,  and  fight  with  such 

rascals  as  these. 


At  Fort  George  and  Oswego,  to  our  great  repu 
tation, 

We  showed  our  vast  skill  in  fortification  ; 

The  French  fired  three  guns ;  of  the  fourth  they 
had  no  occasion ; 

For  we  gave  up  those  forts,  —  not  through  fear, 
but  — mere  persuasion. 


340 


To  Ticonderoga  we  went  in  a  passion, 

Swearing  to  be  revenged   on  the  whole   French 

nation  ; 

But  we  soon  turned  tail  wirhout  hesitation, 
Because  they  fought  behind  trees,  —  which  is  not 

the  regular  fashion. 

Lord  Loudon,  he  was  a  regular  general,  they  say; 
With  a  great  regular  army  he  went  his  way, 
Against  Louisburg,  to  make  it  his  prey, 
But  returned  —  without  seeing  it,  —  for  he  did 
not  feel  bold  that  day. 

Grown  proud  at  reviews,  great  George  had  no  rest ; 
Each   grandsire,   he   had   heard,  a   rebellion  sup 
pressed  ; 

He  wished  a  rebellion,  looked  round  and  saw  none. 
So  resolved  a  rebellion  to  make  —  of  his  own. 

The  Yankees  he  bravely  pitched  on,  because  he 
thought  they  wouldn't  fight, 

And  so  he  sent  us  over  to  take  away  their  right  ; 

But  lest  they  should  spoil  our  review-clothes,  he 
cried  braver  and  louder, 

"For  God's  sake,  brother  kings,  don't  sell  the  cow 
ards  —  any  powder  !  " 

Our  general  with  his  council  of  war  did  advise 
How  at  Lexington  we  might  the  Yankees  surprise  ; 
We  marched  and  remarched,  all  surprised  at  being 

beat ; 
And  so  our  wise  general's  plan  of  surprise  was 

complete. 

For  fifteen  miles  they  followed  and  pelted  us  ;  we 

scarce  had  time  to  pull  a  trigger ; 
But  did  you  ever  know  a  retreat  performed  with 

more  vigor  ? 
For  we  did  it  in  two  hours,  which  saved  us  from 

perdition  ; 
'Twas  not  in  going  out,  but  in  returning,  consisted 

our  expedition. 


TRENTON.  341 


Says  our  general,  k'We  were  forced  to  take  to  our 

arms  in  our  own  defence  :  " 
(For  arms  read  legs,  and  it  will  be  both  truth  and 

sense :) 
*'  Lord  Percy, "  says  he,  "  I  must  say  something  of 

him  in  civility, 
And  that  is  —  I  can  never  enough  praise  him  for 

his  great  agility, " 

Of   their  firing  from   behind   fences  he  makes  a 

great  pother  : 
Every  fence  has  two  sides  ;  they  made  use  of  one, 

and  we  only  forgot  to  use  the  other. 
That  we  turned  our  backs  and  ran  away  so  fast, 

don't  let  that  disgrace  us; 
'Twas  only  to  make   good   what   Sandwich   said, 

that  the  Yankees  could  not  face  us. 

As  they  could  not  get  before  us,  how  could  they 

look  us  in  the  face  ? 
We  took  care  they  shouldn't,  by  scampering  away 

apace. 
That  they  had  much  to  brag  of,  is  a  very  plain 

case  ; 
For  if  they  beat  us  in  the  fight,  we  beat  them  in 

the  race. 


—  1776  — 

BATTLE  OF  TRENTON. 


When  the  Revolution  commenced  St.  Clair  embraced 
the  American  cause;  and  in  January,  1776,  he  was  ap 
pointed  to  commend  a  battalian  of  Pennsylvania  mili 
tia.  He  was  engaged  in  the  expedition  to  Canada,  and 
was  second  in  command,  in  the  proposed  attack  on  the 
British  post  at  Trois  Riveries.  Afterward,  he  was  in  the 
Battle  of  Trenton,  and  had  the  credit  of  suggesting  the 
attack  on  the  British  at  Princeton,  which  proved  so 
fortunate. 


On  Christmas  day,  in  'Seventy-six, 
Our  ragged  troops  with  bayonets  fixed, 


342  TRENTON. 


For  Trenton  marched  away. 
The  Delaware  see  !  the  boats  below  ! 
The  light  obscured  by  hail  and  snow  ! 

But  no  signs  of  dismay. 

Our  object  was  the  Hessian  baud, 
That  dared  invade  fair  freedom's  laud. 

And  quarter  in  that  place. 
Great  Washington  he  led  us  on, 
Whose  streaming  flag,  in  storm  or  sun, 

Had  never  known  disgrace. 


-_• 


In  silent  march  we  passed  the  night, 
Each  soldier  panting  for  the  fight. 

Though  quite  benumbed  with  frost. 
Greene,  on  the  left,  at  six  began, 
The  right  was  led  by  Sullivan, 

Who  ne'er  a  moment  lost. 


Their  pickets  stormed,  the  alarm  was  spread. 
That  rebels  risen  from  the  dead 

Were  marching  into  town. 
Some  scampered  here,  some  scampered  there, 
And  some  for  action  did  prepare  ; 

But  soon  their  arms  laid  down. 


Twelve  hundred  servile  miscreants: 
With  all  their  colors,  guns,  and  tents, 

Were  trophies  of  the  day. 
The  frolic  o'er,  the  bright  canteen, 
In  centre,  front,  and  rear  was  seen 

Driving  fatigue  away. 

Now,  brothers  of  the  patriot  bands, 
Let's  sing  deliverance  from  the  hands 

Of  arbitrary  sway. 
And  as  our  life  is  but  a  span, 
Let's  touch  the  tankard  while  we  can, 

In  memory  of  that  day. 


TRENTON    AND    PRINCETON.  343 

—  1777  — 

TRENTON  AND  PRINCETON. 


The  following  ballad  has  been  written  from  the  dic 
tation  of  a  lady  who  remembers  hearing  it  sung  by  a 
child  to  the  British  troops,  who  accidentally  overheard 
her  and  urged  her  to  repeat  it  to  them,  with  which  she 
complied,  much  to  their  amusement. — McOarty. 


On  December   the  sixth 
And   the  twentieth  day, 

Our  troops  attacked  the  Hessians, 
And  showed  them  gallant  play. 

Our  roaring  cannon  taught  them 
Our  valor  for  to  know  ; 

We  fought  like  brave  Americans 
Against  a  haughty  foe. 

The  chief  were  killed  and  taken, 
The  rest  were  put  to  flight, 

And  some  arrived  at  Princeton, 
Half-fainting  with  affright. 


The  third  of  January, 

The  morning  being  clear, 
Our  troops  attacked  the  regulars. 

At  Princeton,  we  do  hear. 

About  a  mile  from  Princeton 

The  battle  it  begun, 
And  many  a  haughty  Briton  fell 

Before  the  fight   was  done. 

And  what  our  gallant  troops  have  done 
We'll  let  the  British  know ; 

We  fought  like  brave  Americans 
Against  a  haughty  foe. 


344  PRINCETON. 

The  British,  struck  with  terror, 

And  frighted,  ran  away  : 
They  ran  across  the  country 

Like  men  in  deep  dismay. 

Crying  to  every  one  they  met, 
U0  !  hide  us  !  hide  us  !   do  ! 

JThe  rebels  will  devour  us, 
So  hotly  they  pursue," 

0.  base,  ungenerous  Britons  ! 

To  call  us  by   that  name; 
We're  fighting  for  our  liberty, 

Our  just  and  lawful  claim. 

We  trust  in  Heaven's  protection, 

Nor  fear  to  win  the  day  ; 
When  time  shall  come  we'll  crown  our  deeds 

With  many  a  loud   huzza  ! 

Our  foes  are  fled   to  Brunswick, 
Where  they  are  close  confined  ; 

Our  men  they  are   unanimous, 
In  Freedom's  cause  combined. 

Success  to  General  Washington, 
And  Gates  and  Putnam,   too, 

Both  officers  and  privates, 
Who  liberty  pursue. 


—  1777  — 

THE  BATTLE  OF  PRINCETON. 


Stern  winter  scowled  along  the  plain, 
And  ruthless  Boreas  urged  amain 

His  fierce,  impetuous  course  ; 
In  ice  the  watery  regions  bound, 
The  torrent's  foaming  rage  confound 

And  stop  its  boisterous  force. 


PRINCETON.  345 

While  hostile  bands  their  rights  invade, 
Columbia's  sons  in  tents  were  laid, 

And  winter's  blasts  defied  ; 
No  foes  appal,  no  dangers  fright, 
Whilst  Freedom's  sacred  cause  they  fight, 

And  Washington's  their  guide. 

While  slumbers  sealed  the  hero's  eyes, 
He  saw  a  godlike  form  arise, 

Like  martial  Pallas  drest ; 
'Twas  Liberty  !  celestial  maid  ! 
In  all  her  golden  charms  arrayed, 

The  goddess  stood  confessed. 

"My  son,"  she  cried,  "the  gods  above, 
Thy  country's  sacred  cause  approve, 

And  on  thy  virtues  smile ; 
Though  proud  oppression  waste  the  land, 
Yet  freedom  purchased  by  thy  hand, 

Shall  soon  reward  thy  toil. 

"Lo!  where  Britannia's  banners  rise 
In  awful  pomp,  and  brave  the  skies, 

Exulting  o'er  the  land  ; 
Her  haughty  legions  soon  shall  feel 
The  force  of  thine  avenging  steel, 

And  this  thy  chosen  band. 

"Though  veterans  compose  their  train, 
And  tenfold  legions  fill  the  plain, 

To  martial  deeds  inured  ; 
Undaunted  rise  and  take  the  field, 
For  Liberty  shall  lend  her  shield 

And  Victory  her  sword.  " 

Up  rose  the  chief,  at  the  command, 
And  straight  convened  his  faithful  band, 

Inspired  by  freedom's  lore  ; 
Egyptian  darkness  veiled  the  night, 
But  Liberty's  celestial  light 

Their  footsteps  went  before. 


340  A    SONG    FOR    THE    RED  COATS. 


Where  Princeton  rears  the  muse's  seat, 
In  arms  the  hostile  legions  met, 

And  fate  upheld  the  scale; 
Forth  rushed  the  blazing  orb  of  light 
To  add  new  glories  to  the  sight. 

When  Freedom's  sons  assail. 

Like  Mars,  Columbia's  hero  stood  ; 

Her  haughty  foes  were  drenched  in  blood, 

Or  shunned  the  doubtful  fight; 
Whilst  Britons  shame  and  grief  confound, 
Fair  Liberty  the  victors  crowned 

With  honors  ever  bright. 

Henceforth  the  grateful  muse  shall  twine 
Her  annual  wreath  at  Freedom's  shrine. 

The  hero's  brow  to  grace  ; 
By  whose  victorious  arm  restored, 
No  more  she  flies  the  hostile  sword, 

But  hails  her  native  place. 

And  still  with  the  revolving:  year, 
A  garland  shall  the  muse  prepare, 

To  deck  her  Mercer's  urn  ; 
While  Freedom  fills  the  trump  of  fame, 
Columbia  shall  revere  his  name, 

His  fate  her  sons  shall  mourn. 


—  1777  — 

.4   SONG  FOR  THE  RED- COATS. 


This  ballad  was  known  during  the  re  volution,  as  the 
••  North  Campaign,"  "Gates'  Song,"  and  "A  Song  for 
the  Red-Coals."  It  has  been  attributed  to  a  "  private  of 
Colonel  Brook's  regiment,"  and  also  to  the  author  of 
"American  Taxation." 


fn  August,  1776,  St.  Clair  was  appointed  a  Brigadier, 
and  in  February,  1777,  a  Major  General.  He  was  the 
commanding  officer  at  Ticonderoga,  New  York,  when 
that  post  was  invested  by  the  British,  and  evacuated  it, 
July  6th,  1777,  with  such  secresy  that  a  considerable  part 


A   SONG    FOR    THE    RED-COATS.  347 


of  the  public  stores  was  conveyed  away  in  safety, 
Charges  of  cowardice,  treachery,  and  incapacity  were 
brought  against  him  in  consequence;  but  a  court  of  in 
quiry,  presided  over  by  General  Lincoln,  acquitted  him 
"of  all  the  charges  against  him,  with  the  highest 
honor/' 

Among  the  stories,  which  the  ignorant  and  credu- 
ulous  were  led  to  believe  concerning  the  evacuation  of 
Ticonderoga  by  St.  Clair  was  this,  that  he  had  received 
an  immense  treasure  in  silver  balls  fired  into  his  camp 
by  Burgoyne  !  No  wonder,  St.  Clair,  in  his  letter  to  Jay, 
wrote  that  he  "  despised  the  vague  censure  of  an  unin 
formed  populace." 


Come  unto  me  ye  heroes 

Whose  hearts  are  true  and  bold. 
Who  value  more  your  honor, 

Thau  others  do  their  gold  ;     . 
Give  ear  unto  my  story, 

And  I  the  truth  will  tell, 
Concerning  many  a  soldier, 

Who  for  his  country  fell. 

Burgoyne,  the  king's  commander. 

From  Canada  set  sail, 
With  full  eight  thousand  reg'lars, 

He  thought  he  could  not  fail ; 
With  Indians  and  Canadians, 

And  his  cursed  Tory  crew, 
On  board  his  fleet  of  shipping 

He  up  the  Champlain  flew. 


Before  Ticonderoga, 

The  first  day  of  July, 
Appeared  his  ships  and  army, 

And  we  did  them  espy. 
Their  motions  we  observed, 

Full  well  both  night  and  day. 
And  our  brave  boys  prepared, 

To  have  a  bloody  fray. 


348  A   SONG   FOR   THE   RED-COATS, 


Our  garrison  they  viewed  them, 

And  straight  their  troops  did  land. 
And  when  St.  Clair,  our  chieftain. 

The  fact  did  understand, 
That  they  the  Mount  Defiance 

Were  bent  to  fortify, 
He  found  we  must  surrender, 

Or  else  prepare  to  die. 

The  fifth  day  of  July,  then, 

He  ordered  a  retreat, 
And  when  next  morn  we  started, 

Burgoyne  thought  we  were  beat. 
And  closely  he  pursued  us, 

Till  when  near  Hubbardton, 
Our  rear  guards  were  defeated, 
•He  thought  the  country  won. 

And  when  'twas  told  in  Congress, 

That  we  our  forts  had  left, 
To  Albany  retreated, 

Of  all  the  North  bereft ; 
Brave  General  Gates  they  sent  us, 

Our  fortunes  to  retrieve, 
And  him  with  shouts  of  gladness, 

The  army  did  receive. 

Where  first  the  Mohawk's  waters, 

Do  in  the  sunshine  play, 
For  Herkimer's  brave  soldiers, 

St.  Leger  ambushed  lay  ; 
And  them  he  there  defeated, 

But  soon  he  had  his  due, 
And  scared  by  Brooks  and  Arnold. 

He  to  the  north  withdrew. 

To  take  the  stores  and  cattle, 
That  we  had  gathered  then, 

Burgoyne  sent  a  detachment, 
Of  fifteen  hundred  men  ; 


A    SONG    FOR    THE    RED- CO  ATS.  349 


By  Baum  they  were  commanded, 
To  Bennington  they  went ; 

To  plunder  and  to  murder, 
Was  fully  their  intent. 

But  little  did  they  know  then, 

With  whom  they  had  to  deal, 
It  was  not  quite  so  easy, 

Our  stores  and  stock  to  steal ; 
Bold  Stark  would  give  them  only, 

A  portion  of  his  lead ; 
With  half  his  crew  ere  sunset, 

Baum  lay  among  the  dead. 

The  nineteenth  of  September, 

The  morning  cool  and  clear, 
Brave  Gates  rode  through  our  army, 

Each  soldier's  heart  to  cheer ; 
"Burgoyne,"  he  cried,  "advances, 

But  we  will  never  fly ; 
No  —  rather  than  surrender, 

We'll  tight  him  till  we  die. " 

The  news  was  quickly  brought  us, 

The  enemy  was  near, 
And  all  along  our  lines  then 

There  was  no  sign  of  fear ; 
It  was  above  Stillwater 

We  met  at  noon  that  day. 
And  every  one  expected 

To  see  a  bloody  fray. 

Six  hours  the  battle  lasted, 

Each  heart  was  true  as  gold, 
The  British  fought  like  lions, 

And  we  like  Yankees  bold  ; 
The  leaves  with  blood  were  crimson. 

And  then  brave  Gates  did  cry  — 
"  Tis  diamond  now  cut  diamond  ! 

We'll  beat  them  boys  or  die." 


350  A    SONG   FOR   THE    RED-COATS. 


The  darkness  soon  approaching, 

It  forced  us  to  retreat, 
Into  our  lines  till  morning 

Which  made  them  think  us  beat ; 
But  ere  the  sun  was  risen, 

They  saw  before  their  eyes. 
Us  ready  to  engage  them, 

Which  did  them  much  surprise. 

Of  fighting  they  seem  weary, 

Therefore  to  work  they  go, 
Their  thousand  dead  to  bury, 

And  breastworks  up  to  throw  ; 
With  grape  and  bombs  intending 

Our  army  to  destroy, 
Or  from  our  works  our  forces 

By  stratagem  decoy. 

The  seventh  day  of  October, 

The  British  tried  again, 
Shells  from  their  cannons  throwing, 

Which  fell  on  us  like  rain  ; 
To  drive  us  from  our  stations, 

That  they  might  thus  retreat ; 
For  now  Burgoyne  saw  plainly, 

He  never  could  us  beat. 

But  vain  was  his  endeavor 

Our  men  to  terrify  ; 
Though  death  was  all  around  us, 

Not  one  of  us  would  fly. 
But  when  an  hour  we'd  fought  them. 

And  they  began  to  yield, 
Along  our  lines  the  cry  ran, 

"The  next  blow  wins  the  field  ! " 

Great  God,  who  guides  their  battles, 
Whose  cause  is  just  and  true. 

Inspire  our  bold  commander, 
The  course  he  should  pursue. 


A    SONG    FOR   THE   RED  COATS.  351 


He  ordered  Arnold  forward, 
And  Brooks  to  follow  on  ; 

The  enemy  was  routed  ! 
Our  liberty  was  won  ! 

Then  burning  all  their  luggage, 

They  fled  with  haste  and  fear, 
Burgoyne  with  all  his  forces, 

To  Saratogue  did  steer ; 
And  Gates,  our  brave  commander, 

Soon  after  him  did  hie, 
Resolving  he  would  take  them, 

Or  in  the  effort  die. 

As  we  came  nigh  the  village, 

We  overtook  the  foe  ; 
They'd  burned  each  house  to  ashes, 

Like  all  where'er  they  go. 
The  seventeenth  of  October, 

They  did  capitulate, 
Burgoyne  and  his  proud  army, 

Did  we  our  pris'ners  make. 

Now,  here's  a  health  to  Arnold, 

And  our  commander  Gates, 
To  Lincoln  and  to  Washington, 

Whom  every  Tory  hates  ; 
Likewise  unto  our  Congress, 

God  grant  it  long  to  reign ; 
Our  Country,  Right,  and  Justice, 

For  ever  to  maintain. 

Now  finished  is  my  story. 

My  song  is  at  an  end, 
The  freedom  we're  enjoying 

We're  ready  to  defend  ; 
For  while  our  cause  is  righteous, 

Heaven  nerves  the  soldier's  arm, 
And  vain  is  their  endeavor, 

Who  strive  to  do  us  harm. 


*i52  JOHN    BUROOYNE. 

—  1777  — 

THE  FATE  OF  JOHN  BUR  GO  YNE. 


When  Jack,  the  King's  commander, 

Was  going  to  his  duty, 
Through  all  the  crowd  he  smiled  and  bowed, 

To  every  blooming  beauty. 

The  city  rung  with  feats  he'd  done, 

In  Portugal  and  Flanders, 
And  all  the  town  thought  he'd  be  crowned 

The  first  of  Alexanders. 

To  Hampton  Court  he  first  repairs, 
To  kiss  great  George's  hand,  sirs. 

Then  to  harangue  on  state  affairs, 
Before  he  left  the  land,  sirs. 

The  "lower  house"  sat  mute  as  mouse, 

To  hear  his  grand  oration  ; 
And  "all  the  peers"  with  loudest  cheers, 

Proclaimed  him  to  the  nation. 

Then  off  he  went  to  Canada, 

Next  to  Ticonderoga, 
And  quitting  those,  away  he  goes, 

Straightway  to  Saratoga. 

With  great  parade  his  march  he  made. 
To  gain  his  wished  for  station, 

When  far  and  wide  his  minions  hied, 
To  spread  his  "  Proclamation. " 

To  such  as  staid  he  offers  made, 

Of  "pardon  on  submission  ; 
But  savage  bands  should  waste  the  lands 

Of  all  in  opposition. " 

But  ah,  the  cruel  fate  of  war ! 

This  boasted  son  of  Britain, 
When  mounting  his  triumphal  car, 

With  sudden  fear  was  smitten. 


CRAWFORD'S  DEFEAT.  353 


The  sons  of  freedom  gathered  round, 
His  hostile  bands  confounded, 

And  when  they'd  fain  have  turned  their  back, 
They  found  themselves  surrounded  ! 

In  vain  they  fought,  in  vain  they  fled, 
Their  chief,  humane  and  tender, 

To  save  the  rest,  soon  thought  it  best 
His  forces  to  surrender. 

Brave  St.  Clair  when  he  first  retired, 
Knew  what  the  fates  portended ; 

And  Arnold  and  heroic  Grates, 
His  conduct  have  defended. 

Thus  may  America's  brave  sons 

With  honor  be  rewarded, 
And  be  the  fate  of  all  her  foesy 

The  same  as  here  recorded. 


—  1782  — 

CRA  WFORD  'S  DEFEA  T. 


Through  the  courtesy  of  my  friend  and  fellow-la 
borer  in  the  field  of  American  history,  Mr.  C.  W.  But- 
terfield,  the  author  of  the  elaborate  monograph  on  Craw 
ford's  Expedition,  I  am  enabled  to  reproduce  the  follow 
ing  old  ballad  "  copied  from  Doctor  Knight's  Narrative 
by  Robert  A.  Sherrard,  and  carefully  preserved  for  more 
than  sixty  years."  Mr.  Sherrard  states  that  Dr.  Knight 
himself  was  the  author  of  the  poem. 


Come  all  you  good  people  wherever  you  be, 
Pray  draw  near  a  while,  and  listen  to  me  ; 
A  story  I'll  tell  you  which  happened  of  late, 
Concerning  brave  Crawford's  most  cruel  defeat. 

A  bold  hearted  company,  as  we  do  hear, 
Equipped  themselves,  being  all  volunteer : 
Their  number  four  hundred  and  eighty  and  nine  ; 
To  take  the  Sandusky  town  was  their  design. 


354  CRAWFORD'S  DEFEAT: 


In  seventeen  hundred  eighty  and  two, 
The  twenty-sixth  of  May,  I  tell  unto  you, 
They  crossed  the  Ohio,  as  I  understand. 
Where  brave  Colonel  Crawford,  he  gave  the    eono- 
mand. 

With  courage  undaunted  away  they  did  steer, 
Through  the  Indian  country  without  dread  or  fearr 
Where  Nicholson,  Slover,  and  Jonathan  Zane 
Conducted  them  to  the  Saudusky  plain. 

Now  brave  Colonel  Crawford,  an-  officer  bold, 
Ou  the  fifth  day  of  Jur*e  did  the  Indians  behold 
On  the  plains  of  Sandusky  ;  at  three  the  same  dayr 
Both  armies  did  meet  in  battle  array. 

The  Indians  on  horseback  —  Girty  gave  the  com 
mand  — 

On  the  side  of  the  plains,  they  boldly  did   stand  ; 
Our  men  like  brave  heroes  upon  them  did  fire, 
Until  backward  the  Indians  were  forced  to  retire. 

Our  rifles  did  rattle  and  bullets  did  fly ; 
And  some  of  our  men  on  the  ground  there  did  lie  ; 
And  some  being  wounded,  to  comrades,  they  said, 
"  Fight  on,  brother  soldiers,  and  be  not  dismayed  I  'r 

Then  brave  Colonel   WilliamsoD,  as  I  understand  , 
He  wanted  two  hundred  men  at  his  command  : 
If  the  same  had  been  granted,  I  make  no   great 

doubt, 
But  he  soon  would  have  put  the  proud  Indians  to 

rout. 

For  this  brave  commander,  like  a  hero  so  bold, 
Behaved  with  courage,  like  David  of  old, 
Who  with  the  Philistiens*  he  used  to  war, 
And  returned  safe  home  without  receiving  a  scar. 

There  was  brave  Major  Brinton,  the  first  in  com 
mand, 
In  the  front  of  the  battle  he  boldly  did  stand  ; 


CRAWFORD'S  DEFEAT.  355 


With  courage  and  conduct,  his  part  did  maintain. 
Though  bullets  like  hail  in  great  showers  they  came, 

And  as  this  brave  hero  was  giving  command, 
The  rifle  balls  rattled  on  every  hand, 
Pie  received  a  ball,  but  his  life  did  not  yield  : 
Ife  remained  with  the  wounded  men  out   on    the 
field. 

Brave  Biggs  and  brave  Ogle  received  each  a  ball : 
On  the  plains  of  Sandusky,  it  was  their  lot  to  fall ; 
Aud  not  these  alooe,  but  several  men 
Had  the  honor  to  die  on  the  Sundusky  plain. 

There  was  brave  Captain  Munn  like  a  hero  of  old. 
Likewise  Captain   Ross,  who  was  another  as  bold, 
Keceived  each  a  ball,  but  did  not  expire, 
Though  into  the  camp  they  were  forced  to  retire. 

There  was  brave  Captain  Hogland,  I  must  not  go 

past : 
He  fought  out  and  bravely,   while   the  battle  did 

last, 

And  on  the  retreat  to  a  fire  did  go  — 
What  became  of  him  after,  we  never  could  know, 

There  was  Ensign  McM asters,  another  as  brave  : 
He  fought  many  battles  his  country  to  save ; 
On  the  plains  of  Sandusky,  he  received  a  wound  — 
Not  being  able  to  go,  he  was  left  on  the  ground. 

There  were  Sherrard  and  Rogers  with  Paull  of 

renown  : 
They  marched  with  Crawford   to  the   Sandusky 

town, 
Where  they  bravely  did  fight  till  the  battle  was 

done, 
And  without  a  scar  they  returned  safe  home. 

Our  officers  all  so  bravely  did  fight. 
And  likewise  our  men,  two  days  and  a  night, 
Until  a  reinforcement  of  Indians  there  came, 
Which  caused  us  to  leave  the  Sandusky  plain. 


356  CRAWFORD'S  DEFEAT. 

Then  said  our  commander,   "Since  we  have  lost. 

ground  — 

By  superior  numbers  they  do  us  surround  — 
We'll  gather  the  wounded  men,  and  let  us  save 
All  that's  able  to  go,  and  the. rest  we  must  leave." 

There  was  brave  Colonel  Crawford  upon  the  retreat. 
Likewise  Major  Harrison  and  brave  Doctor  Knight, 
With  Slover,  the  pilot,  and  several  men, 
Were  unfortunately  taken  on  the  Sandusky  plain. 

Well,  now  they  have  taken  these  men  of  renown. 
And  dragged  them  away  to  the  Sandusky  town, 
And  there  in  their  council  condemned  for  to  be 
Burnt  at  the  stake  by  most  cruel  Girty. 

Like  young  Diabolians,*  they  this  act  did  pursue. 
And  Girty,  the  head  of  this  infernal  crew  — 
This  renegade  whiteman  was  a  stand er-by, 
While  there  in  the  fire  their  bodies  did  fry. 

The  scalps  from  their  heads  while  alive  they  did 

tear ; 

Their  bodies  with  red  hot  irons  they  did  sear  ; 
They  bravely  expired  without  ever  a  groan, 
Which  might  melt  the  heart  that  was  harder  than 

stone. 

After  our  heroes  were  burnt  at  the  stake, 

Brave  Knight  and  brave  Slover,  they  make  their 

escape ; 
And  with  Heaven's  assistance,  they  brought  us 

the  news, 
So  none  need'the  truth  of  these  tidings  refuse. 

Now,  from  East  unto  West,  let  it  be  understood  — 
Let  every  one  arise  to  revenge  Crawford's  blood, 
And  likewise  the  blood  of  these  men  of  renown, 
That  were  taken  and  burnt  at  the  Sandusky  town. 


*  Credit  Sherrard. 


SIMON    GIRTY.  357 

-  2782  — 

SIMON  GIRTY. 

A  A'O.Y  YMO  US. 

The  outlawed  whiteman  by  Ohio's  flood, 

Whose  vengeance  shamed  the  Indian's   thirst  for 

blood  ; 

Whose  hellish  arts  surpassed   the  Redman's  far  ; 
Whos«  hate  enkindled  many  a  border  war, 
OF  which  each  aged  grandame  hath  a  tale 
At    which    man's    bosom    burns,  and    childhood V 

cheek  grows  pale. 

—  1786  — 

MOOR£TN  LAMENTATION. 


The  massacre  of  the  Moore  furnily  is  one  of  the  most 
horrible  butcheries  to  be  found  in  the  annals  of  the 
west.  It  occurred  in  the  jear  1786,  in  Abb's  valley,  on 
the  Blue  Stone,  in  Western  Virginia.  The  circum 
stances  were  as  follows  — 

On  the  14th  of  July,  1786,  several  horses  came  to  the 
lick-blocks,  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  house, 
when  James  Moore,  the  father  of  the  fated  family,  went 
out  to  salt  them  :  two  men,  who  were  living  with  him, 
having  gone  before  him  into  the  field  and  were  engaged 
in  reaping  wheat.  The  Indians,  who  were  lying  in  am 
bush,  availed  themselves  of  the  opportunity,  and  rushed 
toward  the  house  with  speed.  As  they  advanced,  they 
fired,  and  killed  three  of  the  children,  William  and  Re 
becca,  who  were  coming  from  the  spring,  and  Alexan 
der,  in  the  yard.  Mr.  Moore,  in  attempting  to  get  back 
to  the  house,  was  killed  and  scalped.  The  two  men, 
who  were  reaping,  hearing  the  firing,  and  seeing  the 
house  surrounded  by  the  Indians,  fled  to  the  nearest 
house  in  the  settlements,  a  distance  of  six  miles.  In 
the  meantime,  having  heard  the  alarm,  Mrs.  Moore  and 
Martha  Ivins,  who  was  living  with  her,  barred  the  door 
of  the  cabin  in  the  face  of  the  savages;  but  without 
avail.  An  Englishman,  John  Simpson,  lying  sick  in 
the  house,  was  shot  through  a  chink  between  the  logs  of 
the  cabin,  and  killed.  And  having  broken  through  the 


358  MOORE'S  LAMENTATION. 


door,  the  Indians  took  the  helpless  inmates  prisoners. 
John,  Jane,  Polly,  and  the  baby,  Peggy,  and  Martha 
Ivins.  After  firing  the  house,  they  set  out  for  their 
town  —  presumably,  Chilicothe.  Finding  that  John 
Moore  was  weak  and  unable  to  travel,  they  killed  and 
scalped  him  the  first  day ;  and  after  carrying  the  baby 
two  or  three  days,  to  end  its  fretting,  they  dashed  out 
its  brains  against  a  tree.  Upon  reaching  the  town,  Mrs. 
Moore  and  her  daughter  Jane  were  burned  to  death  at 
the  stake.  What  became  of  Miss  Ivins  is  not  known. 
While  Polly  was  kept  a  prisoner  among  the  Indians  un 
til  released  by  her  brother,  James,  the  second  son  of  the 
family,  who,  two  years  before  the  massacre,  had  been 
made  a  captive  by  a  band  of  Shawnese,  the  chief  of 
whom  was  Black  Wolf. 

I  give  here  two  versions  of  the  old  ballad,  recount 
ing  the  horrible  fate  of  this  family:  the  first,  from  a 
printed  copy,  through  the  courtesy  of  Dr.  Tree;  and  the 
second,  as  it  has  been  sung  to  a  comparatively  recent 
day  in  Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  and  taken  down  by 
Mr.  Wm.  H.  Morrow,  of  Manor. 


Assist  me  with  words,  Melpomene, 
Assist  me  with  skill  to  impart 

The  dolorous  sorrow  and  pain 
That  dwell  upon  every  heart. 

When  Moore  and  his  infantile  throng 

The  savages  cruel  did  slay, 
His  wife  they  led  captive  along : 

With  murmuring  voice  she  did  say  — 

"  Farewell !  ye  soft  bowers  so  green, 
I'll  traverse  these  valleys  no  more, 

Beside  yon  murmuring  stream 
Lies  bleeding  the  man  I  adore : 

And  with  him  my  sweet  innocent  babes. 

These  barbarous  Indians  have  slain, 
Were  I  but  in  one  of  their  graves. 

Then  I  would  be  free  from  my  pain." 

Once  more  on  them  she  cast  her  eyes. 

And  bade  them  forever  farewell. 
Deep  sobs  from  her  bosom  did  rise, 

While  she  thus  in  anguish  did  wail. 


359 


The  heathen  her  sorrows  to  crown, 
Led  her  without  further  delay, 

A  victim  to  their  Shawnee  town, 
And  now  comes  her  tragical  day. 

A  council  upon  her  was  held, 

And  she  was  condemned  for  to  die  ; 

On  a  rock  they  a  fire  did  build, 
While  she  did  her  torments  espy. 

With  splints  of  light  wood  they  prepared 
To  pierce  in  her  body  all  round. 

Her  flesh  for  to  mangle  and  tear. 
With  sorrow  she  fell  to  the  ground. 

But  her  senses  returning  again, 
The  mercy  of  God  did  implore : 

"  Thou  Saviour,  that  for  me  was  slain 
And  bathed  in  bloody  gore, 

Have  mercy  now  on  me  in  death, 

And  Heaven  will  sing  forth  thy  praise 

Soon  as  I  have  yielded  my  breath 
In  a  raging  fiery  blaze." 

When  to  her  destruction  proceeds 
Each  cruel  bloodthirsty  hell-hound  ; 

With  light  wood  they  caused  her  to  bleed, 
Streaming  from  every  wound. 

The  smoke  from  her  body  doth  rise ; 

She  begs  for  their  pity  in  vain  ; 
These  savages  hear  her  loud  cries, 

And  with  dancing  laugh  at  her  pain. 

Three  days  in  this  manner  she  lay, 
Tormented  and  bleeding  the  while, 

But  God  did  his  mercy  display, 
And  on  her  with  pity  did  smile. 

Growing  angry  at  their  cruel  rage, 
Her  soul  would  no  longer  confine ; 

Her  torments  he  soon  did  assuage, 

And  in  praise  she  her  breath  did  resign. 


oGO  THE    MOORE    MASSACRE, 

Let  each  noble  valorous  youth 

Pity  her  deplorable  end  ; 
Awhile  from  your  true  loves  part, 

Join  me  each  brother  and  friend. 

For  I've  been  where  the  cannons  did  roar 
And  the  bullets  did  rapidly  fly, 

And  yet  I  would  venture  once  morer 
The  Shawnees  to  conquer  or  die. 


THE    MASSACRE    OF    THE    MOORE 
FAMILY. 


Come  listen  each  male  and  female, 
Come  listen  each  gallant  stout  heart. 

To  a  tale  of  great  anguish  and  pain, 
Will  cause  the  hot  tear-drops  to  start. 

Of  Moore  and  his  family,  I  sing, 

Whom  the  barbarous  Indians  have  slain. 

His  wife  they  a  captive  did  bring, 

Who  with  sorrowing  voice  did  complain, 

"Farewell  to  you,  woodlands  so  green, 
Your  valleys  I'll  never  see  more, 

Down  by  yon  sweet  murmuring  stream, 
Lies  bleeding  the  man  I  adore. 

With  him  my  two  innocent  babes 

Whom  the  bloodthirsty  Indians  have  slain, 

Oh,  would  that  I  were  in  their  place, 
I'd  be  free  from  all  sorrow  and  pain  !" 

No  one  lent  a  pitying  ear, 

While  she  her  sad  state  did  bemoan, 
These  sad  wailing  accents  to  hear, 

Would  have  melted  the  heart  of  a  stone. 


ST.  CLAIR'S  DEFEAT.  361 

The  Indians  her  sorrow  to  crown 

Then  led  her  yet  farther  away 
A  victim  to  their  Shawnee  town, 

And  now  came  the  murderous  daj. 

A  circle  of  fire  most  fierce , 

These  inhuman  wretches  prepared, 

While  she  in  the  centre  was  placed, 
Her  delicate  person  all  bared. 

With  splinters  of  light  wood  near  by 
To  pierce  her  fair  body  around  ; 

When  she  her  sad  fate  did  espy, 
Lamenting  she  fell  to  the  ground. 

Reviving  herself  then  again, 
The  mercy  of  Grod  did  implore, 

"Have  mercy  upon  me,  0  Death, 
And  soon  let  my  sufferings  be  o'er !" 

Three  days  in  this  torment  she  lay, 
A-bleeding  and  suffering  the  while, 

Till  the  Lord  did  his  mercy  display, 
Looked  down  upon  her  and  did  smile. 

Come  join  me  each  brother  and  friend, 
Come  join  me  each  gallant  stout  heart, 

Consider   her    terrible   end, 

And  awhile  from  your  sweethearts  depart. 

I've  been  where  the  cannons  did  roar, 
I've  been  where  the  bullets  did  fly, 

And  still  I  will  venture  once  more 
These  Indians  to  conquer  or  die ! 


—  1791  — 
ST.   CLAltfS  DEFEAT. 


The  author  of  this,  possibly  the  most  celebrated  of 
the  popular  songs  of  Southwestern  Pennsylvania,  as  I 
am  informed  by  my  erudite  co-laborer,  Dr.  "Wm.  H. 
Egle,  of  Harrisburg,  was  Major  Eli  Lewis,  who  escaped 
the  carnage  of  that  terrible  day  on  the  head  waters  of  the 


362  ST.  CL AIR'S  DEFEAT. 

Wabash,  November  4th,  1791.  He  was  the  father  of  Hon.. 
Ellis  Lewis,  a  Judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Pennsyl 
vania,  and  the  grandfather  of  Mrs.  Juliet  H.  Campbell, 
a  poet  of  merit.  Major  Lewis  is  notable,  morever,  for 
having  published  the  first  newspaper  at  the  capital  of 
the  state,  "The  Harrisburg  Visitor,"  which,  afterward, 
in  the  hands  of  John  Wyeth,  became  "The  Dauphin 
Oracle."  Major  Lewis  died  in  1807,  in  York  county, 
Pennsylvania, 

November  the  fourth,  in  the  year  of  'Ninety-one, 

We  had  a  sore  engagement  near  to  Fort  Jeffer 
son  : 

St.  Clair  was  our  commander,  which  may  remem 
bered  be, 

For  there  we  lost  nine  hundred  menr  in  the  West 
ern  Territory. 

At  Bunker's  hill  and  Quebec,  where  many  a  hero 

fell, 

Likewise  at  Long  Island,  'tis  I  the  truth  can  tell : 
But  such  a  dreadful  carnage  never  did  I  see, 
As  happened  on  the  plains  near  the  river  St.  Marie. 

Our  militia   were  attacked   just  as  the   day  did 

break, 

And  soon  were  overpowered,  and  forced  to  retreat. 
They  killed  Major  Ouldham,  Levin  and  Briggs 

likewise, 
While  horrid  yells  of  savages  resounded  through 

the  skies. 

Major  Butler  was  wounded  the  very  second  fire ; 

His  manly  bosom  swelled  with  rage  when  forced  to 
retire. 

Like  one  distracted  he  appeared,  when  thus  ex 
claimed  he, 

"  Ye  hounds  of  hell,  shall  all  be  slain,  but  that 
revenged  I'll  be!" 

We  had  not  long  been  broken  when  General  But 
ler  fell ; 


ST.  CLAIR'S  DEFEAT.  363 

He  cries,  "My  boys,  I'm  wounded  ;  pray  take  me 

off  the  field  — 
My   God!"    says  he,    "What  shall     we  do?  — 

Were  wounded  every  man ! 
Oo,  charge  i  you  valiant  heroes,  and  beat  them  if 

you  can ! " 

He  leaned  his  back  against  a  tree,  and  there  re 
signed  his  breath, 

And,  like  a  valiant  soldier,  sank  in  the  arms  of 
death  ; 

When  blessed  angels  did  await  his  spirit  to  convey, 

And  unto  the  celestial  fields  he  quickly  bent  his 
way. 

We  charged   again,  we  took  our  ground,  which 

did  our  hearts  elate  : 
But  there  we  did  not  tarry  long ;  they  soon  made 

us  retreat ; 
They   killed    Major  Ferguson,  which  caused  his 

men  to  cry  — 
i(  Stand  to  your  guns,"  says  valiant  Ford:  "we'll 

fight  until  we  die!  " 

Our  cannon-balls  exhausted,  our  artillery  men  all 

slain, 
Our    musket-raen    and   rifle-men   their    fire    did 

sustain  ; 
Three  hours  more  we  fought  like  men,  and  then 

were  forced  to  yield, 
While  three  hundred  bloody  warriors  lay  stretched 

upon  the  field. 

Says  Colonel  Gibson  to  his  men,  "My  boys,  be 

not  dismayed ; 

I'm  sure  that  true  Virginians  were  never  yet  afraid  ; 
Ten   thousand  deaths  I'd   rather  die   than   they 

should  gain  the  field  —  " 
With  that  he  got  a  fatal  shot,  which  caused  him 

to  yield. 


364  SINCLAIR'S  DEFEAT. 


Says  Major  Clark,  "  My  heroes,  I  can  no  longer 

stand : 
We  will  strive  to  form  in  order,  and  retreat  the 

best  we  can. " 
The  word   retreat,   being  passed  all  round,  they 

raised  a  hue  and  cry, 
And   helter-skelter,  through   the   woods,  we   like 

lost  sheep  did  fly. 

We  left  the   wounded   on   the  field,  0   heavens! 

what  a  shock  ! 
iSome  of  their  thighs  were  shattered,  some  of  their 

limbs  were  broke ; 
But   scalping- knives  and   tomahawks  soon  eased 

them  of  their  breath, 
And  fiery  flames  of  torment  soon  tortured  them 

to  death. 

Now  to  mention  our  brave  officers,  'tis  what  I  wish 
to  do ; 

No  sons  of  Mars  e'er  fought  more  brave,  or  showed 
more  courage  true ; 

To  Captain  Bradford  I  belonged,  in  his  artillery. 

Who  fell  that  day,  amongst  the  slain  :  what  a  gal 
lant  man  was  he ! 


SINCLAIR'S  DEFEAT. 


I  append  herewith  another  version  of  the  popular 
old  ballad  of  "  St.  Clair's  Defeat "—  a  version  which  I  re 
ceived  from  John  F.  Beaver,  Esq.,  of  Ohio,  as  that  of 
James  McCalla,  or  McCauly,  a  popular,  pock-marked 
Irish  minstrel  who  flourished  about  the  year  1808  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Stoystown,  Somerset  County.  Penn 
sylvania. 


'Twas  November  the  fo-urth,  in  the  year  of  'Nine 
ty-one, 

We  had  a  sore  engag-e-ment,  near  to  Fort  Jeffer 
son  ; 


SINCLAIR'S  DEFEAT.  365 

Sinclair  was  our  comandi-er,  which  may  remem- 
ber'd  be, 

For  there  we  lost  nine  hundred  men  in  the  West 
ern  Ter'torie. 

At  Bunker's  Hill  and  at  Quebec,  where  many  a 

hero  fell, 
Likewise  at  Long  Isla-and,  ('tis   I  the  truth   can 

tell,) 
And    such  a  dreadful  carnage   may  I   never  see 

again 
As   happen'd   near  St.  Mari-ie's,  upon  the  river 

plain. 

Our  army  was  attacked  just  as  the  day  did  dawn, 
And  soon  was  overpower'd  and   driven  from  the 

lawn  ; 
They  killed  Major  Ouldham,  Levin,  and  Briggs 

likewise, 
Whilst  horrid  yells  of  savages  resounded  through 

the  skies. 

Major  Butler  was  woundi  ed  the  very  second  fire ; 
His  manly   bosom  swell'd  with  rage  when  forced 

to  retire ; 
And  as  he  lay  in  anguish,  nor  scarcely  could  he 

see, 
Exclaim'd   "Ye   fiends  of  hell   shall   fall,    but  I 

reveng'd  will  be  !  " 

We  had  not  long  been  broken,  when  G-en'ral  But 
ler  found 

Himself  so  badly  woundi-ed  was  forc'd  to  quit 
the  ground. 

"My  God,"  says  he,  "what  shall  we  do!  we're 
wounded  every  man  ! 

Go  charge  them,  valiant  hero-oes,  and  beat  them 
if  you  can  ! " 

He  lean'd  his  back  against  a  tree,  and  there  re- 
sign'd  his  breath, 


366  SINCLAIR'S  DEFEAT. 


And  like  a  valiant  soldi-er  sank  in  the  arms  of 
death  ; 

When  blessed  angels  did  await,  his  spirit  to  con 
vey ; 

And  unto  the  celestial  fields  he  quickly  bent  his 
way. 

We  charg'd   again    with  courage  firm,    but  soon 

again  gave  ground, 
The   war-whoop  then  redoubled,   as   did   the  foes 

around. 
They  killed    Major  Ferguson,  which  caused  his 

men  to  cry, 
':0ur  only  safety  is  in  flight ;  or  fighting  here  to 

die. " 

"Stand  to  your  guns,"  says  valiant  Ford,  »«  let's 
die  upon  them  here, 

Before  we  let  the  savages  know  we  ever  harbor'd 
fear. " 

Our  cannon  balls  exhausted,  and  artill'ry  men  all 
slain, 

Obliged  were  our  musket-men  the  enemy  to  sus 
tain. 

Yet  three  hours  more  we  fought  them,  and  then 

were  forced  to  yield, 
When  three  hundred  bloody  warri-ors  lay  stretch'd 

upon  the  field. 
Says  Colonel    Gibson  to  his  men,  "  My  boys  be 

not  dismayed  ; 
I'm  sure  that  true   Virgini-ans  were    never    yet 

afraid. 

"  Ten  thousand  deaths  I'd  rather  die,  than  they 

should  gain  the  field  ;  " 
With  that  he  got  a  fatal  shot,  which  caused  him 

to  yield. 
Says  Major  Clark,    "  My  .heroes,  I  can  here  no 

longer  stand, 
We'll  strive  to  form  in  order,  and  retreat  the  best 

we  can. " 


THE    DEFEAT   OF    ST.    CLAIR.  367 

The  word,   Retreat,  being  pass'd  around,    there 

was  a  dismal  cry, 
Then  helter-skelter  through  the  woods,  like  lost 

sheep  we  did  fly. 
This  well    appointed  army  which   up   until  that 

day 
Defied  and  brav'd  all  danger,  like  a  cloud   had 

pass'd  away. 

The  dying  and  the  woundi-ed  I  (how  dreadful  is 

the  thought !) 
To  the  tomahawk  and  scalping- knife,  in    misery 

are  brought; 
Some  had  a  thigh  and  some  an  arm  broke  on  the 

field  that  day, 
Who  writh'd  in  torments  at  the  stake,  to  close 

the  dire  affray. 

To  mention  our  brave  officers,  is  what  I  wish  to 

do; 
No  sons  of  Mars  e'er  fought  more  brave,  or  with 

more  courage  true. 

To  Captain  Bradford  I  belong'd,  in  his  artillerie, 
He  fell  that  day  amongst  the  slain,  a  valiant  man 

was  he. 


—  1791  — 

THE  DEFEAT  OF  ST.   CLAIR. 


The  following  poem  was  written  by  William  Mun- 
ford,  and  published  in  Richmond,  Virginia,  in  1798,  un 
der  the  title  of  "  A  Lamentation  for  the  Patriots  who 
fell  November  4th,  1791." 


Americans,  attend  my  song  ; 

A  tale  of  grief  T  tell, 
How  twice  five  hundred  warriors  strong 

Far  'midst  the  forest  fell. 


363  THE    DEFEAT   OF   ST.    CLAIR. 


No  friend  their  dying  eyes  to  close, 
All  pierced  with  wounds  they  lay, 

The  scoff  of  cruel  savage  foes, 
The  feast  of  birds  of  prey. 

Revenge,  their  gho&ts  aloud  demand, 

Revenge  your  brethren  slain  ; 
Revenue  us  on  the  savage  band 

Which  stripped  us  on  the  plain . 

The  hawks  who  range  the  fields  of  air 

Are  fattened  with  our  gore  ; 
All  ghastly  pile,  exposed  and  bare, 

The  dogs  our  bodies  tore. 

Those  hands  which  all  things  dared  for  yoia 

The  greedy  foxes  gnaw  ; 
Those  hearts  which  beat  to  honor  true 

Are  buried  in  their  maw. 

Shall  they  who,  in  their  country's  cause, 

When  tyranny  assailed, 
Stood  the  brave  champions  of  her  laws, 

And  gallantly  prevailed  — 

Say,  shall  their  scalps  with  haughty  eye, 

By  tawny  chiefs  be  shewn  ? 
Methinks  I  hear  them  boasting  cry, 

"  AVhitemen,  your  fame  is  gone  !  " 

Sleeps  then  that  spirit  which  of  yore 

The  British  thunder  stayed, 
Forbad  their  lion  huge  to  roar, 

And  low  his  fury  laid  ? 

It  does  not  sleep  ;  but  soon  shall  rush 

Arrayed  in  native  might, 
Their  baseless  vaunts  in  death  to  crush, 

And  put  their  hopes  to  flight. 

Ye  who,  triumphant  o'er  the  slain, 

With  feet  inhuman  stride, 
Soon  on  the  same  ensanguined  plain, 

In  blood  may  set  your  pride. 


THE   DEFEAT   OF    ST.  CLAIR.  369 


Think  not  our  want  of  courage  wrought 
Our  fall  beneath  your  arms ; 

Our  little  army  bravely  fought 
'Midst  carnage  and  alarms. 

The  greatest  men  may  sometimes  nod  ; 

And  so  the  great  St.  Glair 
By  the  dark  providence  of  God 

Fell  blindly  in  the  snare. 

No  scouts  he  sent,  ond  no  look-out 

In  marching  did  he  keep ; 
In  valor  proud  he  thought  no  doubt 

His  enemies  asleep. 

Those  arts  which  savage  heroes  own, 

So  dismal  was  our  lot, 
To  our  great  chief  seemed  little  known, 

Or  at  that  time  forgot. 

Our  powder  wet  small  aid  would  give, 

Our  horses  were  too  poor, 
With  labor  spent  scarce  seemed  to  live, 

Yet  on  he  went  secure. 

Ye  too,  ye  vile  commissioners, 
Who  arms  and  steeds  supplied, 

By  you  were  caused  your  country's  tears, 
The  woods  with  blood  were  dyed. 

Oh,  shame !  to  glut  the  avarice 

Of  some  few  abject  thieves, 
Our  dearest  blood  a  sacrifice ! 

My  very  heart-blood  grieves. 

From  far-famed  states  the  warriors  came 

To  Miami's  fatal  shore, 
Led  on  by  chiefs  of  mighty  fame, 

Yet  thence  returned  no  more. 

How  many  widows  wring  their  hands  ? 

How  many  orphans  weep  ? 
Each  a  dear  hapless  friend  demands 

Now  sunk  in  endless  sleep. 


370      THE  DEFEAT  OF  ST.  CLAIR. 

All  ye  who  read  this  mournful  tale, 
With  hearts  which  pity  warms, 

The  hard  necessity  bewail, 

Which  calls  mankind  to  arms. 

Behold  the  good,  the  valiant  die, 

On  war's  dread  altar  slain, 
And  mourn  for  human  misery, 

Ye  that  are  born  to  pain. 

Now  on  the  field  of  death  they  lay, 

The  army  there  divided ; 
Some  here,  some  there  await  the  day, 

A  creek  between  them  glided. 

There,  too,  with  care  their  steeds   they 

On  all  sides  guard  the  place ; 
And  yet  that  very  night  they  lost 

Five  hundred  in  short  space. 

The  wile  was  laid  that  very  night, 
Our  troops  with  speed  surrounded  ; 

The  savage  heart  with  fierce  delight 
In  every  bosom  bounded. 

Now  when  the  sun  scarce  reared  his  head, 

And  shone  with  earliest  ray, 
A  pack-horse  man  his  fortune  led 

Where  the  militia  lay. 

He  asked  for  leave  to  pass  the  guard 

To  seek  a  stolen  horse, 
Then  leave  received  without  regard 

Of  danger  took  his  course. 

Scarce  out  of  sight  the  wretch   had  passed  ; 

A  gun  the  soldiers  hear, 
And  back  they  see  him  fly  in  haste, 

Ten  Indians  in  his  rear  ! 

For  mercy  was  his  piteous  call, 

Our  men  came  on  to  aid ; 
They  fired,  but  saw  the  victim  fall : 

The  foe  rushed  undismayed. 


THE  DEFEAT  OP  ST.  CLAIR.      371 


Sudden  the  dire  war-whoop  was  heard, 
The  hills,  the  woods  resound, 

As  springing  from  the  earth  appeared 
Indians  on  Indians  round  ! 

A  thousand  tomahawks  were  sped, 
The  lives  of  men  their  prey, 

At  once  full  many  a  valiant  head 
Beneath  their  fury  lay  ! 

Awhile  amazed  our  sqadrons  stood 
And  heard  the  dreadful  cry ; 

Cold  terror  ran  thro1  all  their  blood, 
They  tremble  and  they  fly. 

Their  comrades  slain,  a  lucky  few 

By  speed  the  army  joined ; 
A  dismal  hail  of  bullets  flew  — 

The  Indians  close  behind. 

Thither  arrived,  the  foe  retired ; 

The  fugitives  took  breath, 
And  there  a  respite  short  acquired 

From  terror  and  from  death. 

As  twixt  the  flash  and  thund'ring  sound, 
When  vivid  lightnings  gleam, 

A  pause  ensues,  such  now  they  found 
The  respite  sad,  I  deem. 

Now  on  all  sides  begins  the  fight, 

With  horrid  savage  cries ; 
The  smoke  of  guns  turns  day  to  night. 

Blood  flows  and  groans  arise. 

Then  did  the  gallant  Oldham  fall ; 

As  at  the  army's  head 
He  charged,  he  met  the  cruel  ball 

Which  laid  him  with  the  dead. 

Heroes,  who  with  him  pressed  the  plain 

That  day  with  equal  fame  ; 
Forgive  me  if  my  feeble  strain 

Tells  not  each  mighty  name. 


372  THE    DEFEAT    OF   ST.  CLAIR. 

A  hundred  tongues  would  not  suffice 

To  give  you  all  your  praise, 
Too  great  for  me  the  enterprize 

Your  glorious  deaths  to  raise. 

But  now  the  bloody  battle  warms, 

Fiercer  the  hosts  engage  ; 
Our  soldiers  boldly  stand  to  arms 

The  Indians  deadly  rage. 

From  ev'ry  side  at  once  they  came, 
And  ev'ry  shot  brought  death  ; 

In  vain  burned  valor's  vigorous  flame, 
Our  heroes  spent  their  breath. 

While  smoke  and  carnage  blot  the  day 

Our  guns  are  fired  in  vain, 
Destruction  reigned  and  dire  dismay 

O'er  all  the  ensanguined  plain. 

With  savage  art  behind  each  tree 

Protection  sure  they  found : 
No  man  hia  enemy  could  see ; 

The  air  our  bullets  wound. 

The  cannon's  awful  voice  awhile 

Their  ardor  fierce  repressed, 
One  moment  stayed  the  bloody  toil, 

New  spirit  filled  each  breast. 

But  flight  th'  effect  the  cannon  wrought, 
Too  well  that  sound  they  knew  ; 

Those  dreadful  arts  which  white  men  taught. 
Now  numerous  white  men  slew. 

E'en  to  their  yawning  mouths  they  came, 

And  poured  a  leaden  shower, 
Soon  they  who  waked  the  cannon's  flame 

Sank  by  its  deadly  power. 

Their  arms  the  cruel  Britons  gave, 

Who  view  with  fierce  disdain 
The  nation,  whom  they  deemed  their  slave, 

The  wreaths  of  glory  gain. 


THE   DEFEAT    OF    ST.  CLAIR.  373 


Full  many  Englishmen  were  seen 

Among  the  savage  hosts, 
Nor  would  they  take  that  part,  I  ween, 

But  he,  who  holds  the  posts  — 

Which  in  despite  of  treaties  stand 
And  now  nine  years  have  stood, 

He  placed  the  hatchet,  in  the  hand 
Which  reveled  in  our  blood. 

Are,  cruel  England,  these  thy  arts, 

And  art  thou  thus  avenged, 
Thus  dost  thou  hope  to  gain  the  hearts 

Thy  tyanny  estranged  ? 

Thus  wilt  thou  break  the  sacred  laws 

Which  nations  should  obey, 
And  haste  to  murder  in  the  cause 

Of  loathed  despotic  sway  ? 

Yet  midst  the  savage  din  of  arms 
Which  smote  the  bravest  heart, 

St.  Glair's  brave  soul  felt  no  alarms : 
He  did  a  warrior's  part. 

With  sad  infirmity  and  pain  «w 

His  aged  limbs  were  prest ; 
But  still  his  soul  could  sloth  disdain  : 

Still  vigor  filled  his  breast. 

While  bloody  streams  around  him  flowed, 

Serene  his  dauntless  eye  ; 
Where  danger  loudest  called  he  rode, 

What  man  could  do,  to  try  — 

Once  more  to  change  war's  cruel  course 

To  turn  its  rolling  wave  ; 
But  naught  availed  ;  nor  art,  nor  force 

His  brethren's  lives  could  save. 

"  Press  on,  brave  boys  !  your  horses  strain 
From  their  strongholds  to  drive 

Your  savage  foes  !  "  he  cried  in  vain, 
The  steeds  were  scarce  alive. 


374      THE  DEFEAT  OF  ST.  CLAIR. 

Two  hours  th'  ill-fated  army  stood 

Till  weakness  and  dismay, 
Had  heaped  the  field  with  death  and  blood  ; 

They  then  at  length  gave  way. 

Now  was  a  hurried  scene  of  flight, 
And  shrieks  and  cries  were  heard ; 

The  gallant  host  of  late  so  bright, 
Now  one  wide  wreck  appeared. 

Thro'  all  the  woods  the  wretches  fled 

Pale-faced  with  aching  hearts, 
The  hatchets  trembled  o'er  each  head, 

Whistled  the  iron  darts. 

But  valiant  Butler  scorned  to  fly 

And  taint  his  former  name ; 
He  chose  to  conquer  or  to  die 

A  sacrifice  to  fame. 

Firm  in  his  post  the  hero  stands, 
Whole  squadrons  'round  him  dying, 

Undaunted  calls  to  stop  the  bands, 
Who  horror-struck  were  flying. 

scattered  soldiers  with  him  stood, 
hen  came  a  wound  severe ; 
Forth  gushed  in  tides  the  smoking  blood, 
His  death  he  found  draw  near. 

He  bid  his  men  not  vainly  grieve 

Till  flight  might  be  too  late ; 
"  Farewell,"  he  said  :  with  tears  they  leave 

Their  Gen'ral  to  his  fate. 

An  officer  his  pistols  gave 

To  combat  to  the  last, 
As  soldiers  should  to  seek  his  grave : 

The  vital  stream  poured  fast. 

Fierce  'midst  the  foes  with  dread  despair 

The  fainting  hero  rushed, 
When  breathed  his  manly  soul  in  air, 

With  force  superior  crushed. 


THE   DEFEAT   OF   ST.  CLAIR.  375 

Butler  his  countrymen  shall  mourn, 

Their  friend  forever  lost, 
And  doleful  verse  for  aye  adorn 

Him  once  Columbia's  boast.* 

A  wretched  remnant  yet  remained 

In  worthy  Drake's  command, 
He,  tho'  with  wounds  repeated  pained, 

Still  spirited  his  band. 

Oft  did  he  lead  them  'gainst  the  foe, 

Oft  bleed  in  glorious  strife  ; 
But  heaven  forbade  a  fatal  blow 

To  end  his  precious  life. 

All  hope  now  lost  but  life  to  save, 

And  fly  impending  doom ; 
To  charge  them  thro'  the  word  he  gave, 

And  gain  their  native  home. 

Fierce,  at  the  word,  the  men  obey, 

And  ev'ry  danger  dare, 
Thro'  hostile  crowds  they  hew  their  way, 

Made  furious  by  despair  ! 

Thus  bravely  saved,  their  comrades  joined, 

By  numbers  driven  they  flew  ; 
The  helpless  children  left  behind 

The  thirsty  hatchet  slew. 

There  a  poor  woman  ran  from  death, 

Her  helpless  babe  she  bore, 
Till  tired  at  length  and  out  of  breath 

She  could  support  no  more  — 

Its  precious  weight ;  then,  with  a  look, 

That  spoke  her  breaking  heart, 
She  laid  it  down  upon  a  block, 

And  hastened  to  depart. 

A  dreadful  savage  was  at  hand 

And  clove  its  little  head  : 
She  saw  its  blood  disstain  the  land  : 

With  soul  distracted  fled. 


376  THE   DEFEAT   OF   ST.  CLAIR. 


Now  had  the  savages  pursued 

The  viet'ry  in  their  hand. 
Not  one  American  had  viewed 

Again  his  native  land. 

Their  thirst  of  plunder  saved  the  life 

Of  many  a  wretch  who  ran, 
For  plunder  was  their  savage  strife 

Which  busied  ev'ry  man. 

The  baggage  seized,  they  next  prepare 

To  strip  the  gory  dead ; 
But  first  with  frightful  ardor  tear 

The  scalp  from  evVy  head. 

The  helpless  wounded  who  survey 

Their  comrades'  horrid  fates, 
With  the  dire  tomahawk  they  slay, 

On  all  like  death  awaits. 

So  from  the  mountains  rough  with  snows, 
Gaunt,  hungry  wolves  descend, 

To  men  and  flocks  unpitying  foes, 
Their  trembling  prey  they  reqd. 

Now  drunk  with  joy,  they  laugh,  they  sing, 

O'er  mangled  bodies  dance, 
And  make  the  wide-spread  forest  ring 

With  shouts  and  cruel  taunts. 

Thus  long  as  day  its  beams  displayed, 

Sad  carnage  stained  the  light, 
E'en  till  in  mantle  black  arrayed 

Appeared  the  gloomy  night. 

0  Thou,  who  bidst  the  war  to  roar, 

Columbia's  mourning  hear ! 
Ah  !  may  her  children's  groans  no  more 

With  horror  strike  the  ear  ! 

With  thy  strong  hands  her  soldiers  guide 

A  great  revenge  to  take, 
Till  Indian  blood  the  fields  have  dyed 

With  many  a  crimson  lake. 


MIAMI  —  A    MONODY.  377 


Till  cooped  within  their  proper  bound, 
Their  cruel  swarins  no  more 

With  flames  our  settlements  surround 
And  revel  in  our  gore  — 

Till  Peace,  the  angel  Peace,  at  length 
With  outstretched  wings  appear  ; 

And  all  the  world  Columbia's  strength 
Shall  know  and  known  revere. 


*  General  Richard  Butler's  combat  with  the  Indian  s< 
after  he  was  shot,  gave  such  peculiar  interest  to  his  fate 
that  a  representation,  of  himself  and  the  group  sur 
rounding  him,  in  wax  figures,  was  exhibited  throughout 
I  he  United  States. 


— 1791  — 

MIAMI—  A  MONODY. 


The  following  lines,  under  the  title  of  "A  Monody 
to  the  Memory  of  the  Young  Heroes  who  fell  at  the 
Miami,  under  General  St.  Clair,"  is  by  a  contemporary 
but  unknown  poet. 


Descend,  bland  Pity,  from  thy  native  sky, 
Come  with  thy  moving  plaint  and  melting  eye : 
The  Muses  court  thee  from  thy  blessed  abode, 
Thy  throne  of  light  embosomed  in  thy  God ; 
With  balmy  voice  the  lurid  tidings  tell, 
How  the  brave  bled  —  and  how  lamented  fell : 
How,  in  the  earliest  pride  of  opening  bloom, 
On  houseless  wilds  demand  a  sheltering  tomb, 
Far  from  the  social  tie,  the  kindred  tear, 
Denied  the  relic'd  urn,  and  trophied  bier. 
In  the  deep  horrors  of  the  midnight  shade, 
In  the  first  onset  dauntless  valor  made, 
Each  youthful  warrior  wastes  his  rosy  breath, 
And  wooes  stern  honor,  in  the  grasp  of  death  ; 
Scarce  seen  to  charm,  just  rising  to  applause, 
The  blameless  victim  of  a  lubric  cause, 


378  MIAMI  —  A    MOJ*OT)TT. 


Torn  like  a  plant  beneath  the  early  spring, 
When  shivering  Karus  flaps  his  fateful  wing. 

Ah  !  say,  what  pure  libations  can  be  paid, 
What  Pond  atonement  soothe  the  suffering  shade? 
In  vain  from  frozen  age  the  warm  tears  flow, 
In  vain  bright  beauty  droops  in  clouds  of  woe, 
In  vain  the  hero's  laureled  wreaths  declioe, 
In  vain  the  minstrel  swells  the  notes  divine : 
They,  who  afar  these  bootless  griefs  deride, 
And  stain  the  fair  Ohio's  flowery  sider 
Who  tl.e  wronged  Indian's  scanty  treasures  spoil r 
Waste  his  weak  hope,  and  strip  his  subject  soil, 
And.  like  the  rattling  serpent  of  the  heath, 
On  the  lone  sleepers  pour  the  darts  of  death, 
They  must  atone ;  from  them  the  mourners  claim 
Each  loved  associate  and  each  treasured  name  ; 
Their  cruel  hands  these  desolations  spread, 
Lost  in  their  cause,  each  martyred  hero  bled  ; 
Driven  by  their  rage,  the  forest's  children  roamT 
And  the  lorn  female  wants  a  pitying  home  ; 
As  if  that  wild  which  bounteous  Heaveo  displays 
From  orient  Phoebus  to  his  western  rays, 
Spread  its  broad  breast  in  vain  ;  to  them  denies 
The  gifts  which  Nature's  equal  care  supplies. 

Since  thine  own  hills  and  widening  vales  demand 
The  farming  ploughshare  and  the  laboring  hand, 
Why  must  that  hand  pollute  the  ravaged  heath, 
That  culturing  ploughshare  wage    the    deeds   of 

death  ? 

Though  wakening  Reason  join  her  forceful  strain, 
Still  shall  dejected  Mercy  plead  in  vain  ? 
Or  shall  Columbia  hear  the  rude  behest, 
And  clasp  her  murderers  to  her  bleeding  breast? 
Shall  she,  with  impious  hand  and  ruffian  knife, 
From  her  first  offspring  rend  the  cords  of  life  ? 
To  Nature's  sons  with  tyrant  rage  deny 
The  woody  mountain  and  the  covering  sky  ? 
Ah,  no!  each  sainted  shade  indignant  bends, 
Bares  his  wide  wounds,  his  reddening  arin  extends : 


THE   GRAVE    OF    CATFISH.  3T9 

Return,  he  cries,  -ere  -every  hope  is  lost ; 
Ohio  claims  you  on  his  osier  coast  : 
Return,  though  late^    the  treacherous  wish  'dis 
claim, 

Awake  to  justice,  and  arise  to  fame  ; 
No  more  with  blood  the  weeping  soil  deface, 
But  spare  the  patient,  suffering,  warlike  race. 
To  you  our  lacerated  spirits  turn, 
From  you  demand  a  monumental  urn ; 
For  you  our  blushing  wounds  uncovered  lie, 
Press  the  hard  earth,  and  meet  the  bathing  sky., 
Where  the  sick  moon  o'erveils  her  pallid  brow, 
And  the  lone  night-bird  swells  the  peals  of  woe. 

Not  crimson  War,  nor  Valor's  glittering  wreath 
To  the  pale  corse  restores  the  quivering  breath  ; 
7Tis  the  mild  power  of  seraph  Peace  alone 
(Jan  charm  each  grief,  and  every  wrong  atone ; 
Her  healing  hand  shall  waft  oblivion  round, 
And  pour  her  opiates  through  each  gushing  wound. 
O'er  the  cold  ghost  the  mantling  olive  spread, 
And  shade  the  ?od  which  laps  the  glorious  dead. 

—  1792?  — 

THE  GRAVE  OF  CATFISH. 


A  local  tradition  —  erroneously,  but  no  matter  —  en 
tombs  the  dust  of  Catfish  beneath  a  large  unhewn  stone 
in  a  graveyard  in  Washington,  Pennsylvania.  This  cel 
ebrated  Indian  was  a  chieftain  of  the  Kuskuskees  —  his 
Indian  name  being  Tingoocqua;  and  as  late  as  1788,  he 
lived  in  the  neighborhood  of  Washington,  the  original 
name  of  which  town  was  Catfish.  He  died  in  Ohio.  The 
following  stanzas  by  Hiram  Kaine,  a  printer,  are  in  ac 
cord  with  the  tradition. 


A  fitting  monument  was  that 
For  one  so  proud  and  stern  — 

More  striking  than  a  marble  bust 
Or  consecrated  urn  ! 


380  THE    GRAVE    OF   CATFISH. 

Unbending  as  that  massive  rock, 
Thou'st  braved  the  battle  storm, 

And  reared  amidst  its  fiercest  shock 
Thy  dark,  majestic  form. 

Thou  needst  not  fear  the  pale-face  race. 

Who  slumber  by  thy  side  ; 
They  cannot  tear  the  home  from  thee. 

Which  living  they  denied. 

The  unlettered  stone  above  thy  head 

Is  not  more  still  than  they, 
The  marble  not  more  motionless 

That  tells  us  where  they  lie. 

The  rank  green  grass  is  twining 

Its  wreath  above  thy  head, 
As  it  ever  richly  twineth 

Round  dwellings  of  the  dead. 

Oh,  does  thy  spirit  ever  come 

To  gaze  upon  this  mound, 
And  tread  upon  the  springing  grass 

Above  the  hallowed  ground  ? 

Dost  ever  wander  o'er  the  hills 
Where  once  thy  tribe  did  roam. 

And  curse  the  race  who  on  their  graves 
Have  built  themselves  a  home  ? 

Thou  hearest  not,  dark  chieftain  — 

Thy  funeral  song  is  sung, 
The  emblems  of  thy  power  have  flown, 

Thy  last  war-whoop  hath  rung. 

But  yet  thy  name,  by  kindred  ghosts, 

Is  heard  by  yonder  rill, 
As  comes  its  murmuring  midnight  ehime 

In  echoes  from  the  hill. 


THE   WHISKEY    INSURRECTION.  381 

—  1794  — 

THE    WHISKEY  INSURRECTION. 


The  following  poem,  as  the  author,  David  Bruce,  of 
Ourgettstown,  Washington  county,  —  a  native,  how 
ever,  of  Scotland,  —  has  told  us,  in  a  note  to  his  volume 
of  poeins  published  in  Washington,  in  1801,  was  the  first 
poem  which  he  wrote  under  the  character  of  the  Scots- 
Irishman,  *'  in  the  year  1794,  soon  after  the  Whiskey  In 
surrection  in  the  western  counties  of  Pennsylvania, 
where  the  author  then  resided." 


TO  WHISKEY, 

Great  Pow'r,  that  warms  the  heart  and  liver, 
And  puts  the  bluid  a'  in  a  fever, 
If  dull  and  heartless  I  am  ever, 

A  blast  o'  thee 
Makes  me  as  blythe,  and  brisk,  and  clever 

As  ony  bee. 

I  wat  ye  are  a  cunning  chiel, 
O'  a'  your  tricks  I  ken  fu'  weel, 
For  aft  ye  hae  gien  me  a  heel, 

And  thrown  me  down, 
When  I  shook  hands  wi'  hearts  so  leal, 

Ye  wily  loun. 

When  fou'  o'  thee  on  Irish  grun', 
At  fairs  I've  aft'  had  muckle  fun, 
An'  on  my  head  wi'  a  guid  rung, 

Gat  mony  a  crack  ; 
An'  mony  a  braw  chiel  in  my  turn, 

Laid  on  his  back. 

An'  here,  tho'  sticks  be  laid  aside, 
An'  swankies  fight  in  their  bare  hide  ; 
Let  me  o'  thee  ance  get  a  swig, 

I'll  tak  my  part, 
An'  bite  and ,  gouge  and  tread 

Wi'  a'  my  heart. 


TO   WHISKEY. 


Great  strengthening  pow'r,  without  thy  aid 
How  could  log-heaps  be  ever  made  ? 
To  tell  the  truth,  I'm  sair  afraid, 

('Twixt  ye  and  me,) 
We'd  want  a  place  to  lay  our  head, 

Hadn't  been  for  tliee. 


But  when  the  chiels  are  fou'  o'  thee, 
Och  !  how  they  gar  their  axes  flee, 
Then  God  hae  mercy  on  the  tree, 

For  they  have  naue. 
Ye'd  think  (the  timber  gaes  so  free) 

It  rafe  its  lane.* 


Without  thee  how  could  grass  be  rnawn  ? 
Grain  shear'd,  and  into  barnyards  drawn  ? 
An'  when  auld  wives  wi'  faces  thrawu 

Ly  in  the  strae, 
I  doubt,  gin  ye  were  nae  at  ban', 

There'd  be  great  wae. 


But  it  would  tak  a  leaf  and  mail- 
To  tell  o'  a'  your  virtues  rare  ; 
At  wedding,  gossiping  and  fair, 

Baith  great  and  sma' 
Look  unco  dowff  if  ye'r  na  there, 

Great  soul  o'  a'. 


Then  foul  befa'  the  ungrateful  diel 
That  would  begrudge  to  pay  right  weel 
For  a'  the  blessings  that  ye  yiel 

In  sic  a  store  ; 
I'd  nae  turn  round  upo'  my  heel 

For  saxpence  more. 


*  The  wood  splits  so  freely,  you'd  think  it  would 
rive  itself. 


ALEXANDER   ADDISON.  383 


TO  ALEXANDER  ADDISON. 


To  the  Judge,  whose  charge  to  the  jury  in  the  trials 
ot  the  insurrectionists  is  a  magnificent  monument  to 
perpetuate  his  memory  for  many  centuries  to  come, 
Mr.  Bruce  dedicated  his  volume  of  poems  in  the  follow 
ing  stanzas. 


Tho'  Brackenridge,  an'  sic  like  chiels, 
Wi'  the  wud  rabble  at  their  heels, 
Spit  out  at  ye  the  spite  o'  diels, 

Ye  need  na  care  ; 
Ilk  honest  man  your  merit  feels  — 

What  want  ye  mair  ? 

Your  mind,  illum'd  by  Knowledge's  ray, 

An'  bent  on  usefV  purpose  ay  ; 

Your  steady,  plain,  an'  straight-on  wa}7 

Will  leave  a  track  ; 
For  them,  when  ance  they've  had  their  day, 

.Nane  need  look  back. 

Wi'  fittle,  groveling,  selfish  minds, 
Fu'  o;  low  tricks,  an'  base  designs, 
Their  names  will  ne'er  reach  ither  times ; 

Or,  what  still  worse  is, 
If  e'er  their  mentioned  for  their  crimes, 

'Twill  be  wi'  curses. 

In  days,  when  the  auld  Roman  state 
Was  hast'ning  downward  to  its  fate, 
Wi'  just  sic  arts  as  hae  o'  late 

Come  here  in  play  ; 
By  putting  ilk  thing  good  an'  great 

Out  o'  the  way  — 

Wha  flourish'd  mair  than  Clodius  then  ? 
He  chiefs  to  provinces  could  send ; 
Consuls  to  him  their  heads  did  bend ; 

He  made  them  a' ; 
For,  wi'  the  MOB  at's  finger's  end, 

He  made  the  law. 


384  ALEXANDER   ADDISOW. 


But  wha  speaks  \*ell  o'  Clodius  now  ? 
While  Cato's  name,  wha,  wi'  stern  brow, 
Upright  in  virtue,  ne'er  would  bow 

To  court  the  herdr 
Will  live  for  ay,  a'  ages  thro', 

Prais'd  and  rever'd. 

But  I  had  maist  forgot  to  mention 
That,  which  at  first  was  my  intention  — 
Thir  twa-three  sangs  OT  my  invention 

I  here  present  ye  ; 
'Bout  them  I  hae  nae  apprehension, 

Should  they  content  ye 

It's  praise  by  men  like  ye  bestow'd, 
Wha  can  distinguish  brass  from  gowd, 
0'  which  true  merit  should  be  proud  — 

That's  lasting  fame  : 
The  noisy  clattering  o'  the  crowd 

Can  gie  no  name. 

Merit  wi'  them's  no  worth  the  keeping ; 
Folly  aft  gets  it,  while  he's  sleeping  ; 
Pert,  blethering  Dullness,  Genius  meeting, 

Aft  turns  him  out  ; 
An'  splendid  Guilt,  wi'  bluid  a  dreeping, 

Gets  aft  their  shout. 

Let  ithers  tell  them  stories  fause, 
For  office  green,  wi'  hankering  maws, 
An'  strive  to  please  them  wi'  their  laws 

For  to  get  in  ; 
Ye'll  never  judge  to  gain  their  'plause, 

Nor  will  I  sing. 

Thae  sangs  are  written  in  the  phrase 
Our  forbears  spake  in  ither  days  — 
Douce,  honest  carls  !  on  their  braes 

They  liv'd  fu'  snug, 
Wi'  sober,  simple,  peacefu'  ways, 

An'  toom'd  their  coggr. 


TO    II.    H.    BRACKENRIDGE.  385 


Th«vy  had  na  hoard  o'  Tamas  Paine; 

An'  a'  the  diabolic  train 

His  principles  hae  brought  on  men : 

They  paid  their  rent ; 
An'  finding  ilk  thing  else  their  ain, 

They  were  content. 

May  ;i'  their  bairns,  whare'er  they  be. 
On  this  or  tither  side  the  sea, 
Subject  or  citizen,  (sae  they're  free 

It  is  a'  ane,) 
Wi'  settled  minds,  live  peacefulie, 

Like  them  at  hame. 

An'  whon  your  enemies  hae  gaen 
To  that  black  hole  was  made  by  Sin, 
May  ye  your  houord  seat  maintain 

Ri^ht  to  dispense, 
Wi'  mind,  discriminating  keen, 

An'  manly  sense. 

TO  H.  H.  BRACKEN  RIDGE. 


In  an  address  to  this  distinguished  gentleman, 
whose  conduct  in  the  Whiskey  Insurrection  was  so 
equivocal,  as  to  render  him  suspected  by  the  govern 
ment,  and  in  whose  exculpation  he  published  in  1795,  a 
book  entitled  "Incidents  of  the  Western  Insurrection 
of  1794,"  the  Bard  of  Burgettstown  makes  the  following 
allusion  — 


When  Whiskey-Boys  sedition  sang, 
An'  anarchy  strod  owre  the  Ian', 
When  Folly  led  Rebellion's  ban', 

Sae  fierce  an'  doure, 
Folks  said  ye  sleely  lent  a  ban' 

To  mak  the  stoure. 

But  ye  soon  pat  it  in  a  beuk, 

An'  tauld  us  how,  by  heuk  and  cruik, 

Ye  wark't  upo'  the  rabble-rout, 

To  do  your  biddin', 


386  TO    ALEX.    F.    DALLAS. 


An'  elear'd  yoursel'  frae  ilka  doubt, 

As  clean's  a  ribban'. 


TO  ALEXANDER  F.   D  ALL  AX. 


To  Alexander  F.  Dallas,  the  counsel  for  the  prisoners 
in  the  Federal  Circuit  Court  at  Philadelphia,  he  makes 
ihis  reference,  in  his  address  "To  My  Musie'' — 


Or  wi  a  stock  o*  impudence, 

An'  my  sma'  share  o'  tear  an'  sense, 

I  might  been  pleading  'fore  a  bench, 

Like  flimsy  D[allas,] 
His  brother  rogues,  wi'  lame  defence, 

To  save  frae  gallows. 


A  CANNY  WORD. 

In  an  address  to  the  Democrats  of  the  West.  Bruce 
refers  to  the  Whiskey  Insurrection,  as  follows. 


When,  ance,  about  Whiskey, 

Ye  a'  gat  sae  crusty, 
An'  swore  ye'd  na  pay  fur  a  drap  ; 

I  leav't  to  yoursel's, 

(  Gif  you're  na  sham'd  )  to  tell's, 
What  the  deil  ye  wad  then  a'  be  at. 

Ye  loupt  like  mad  nowt, 

An'  bawl'd  an'  cried  out, 
•'Nae  funding,  excise/'  an'  a'  that, 

An'  swore  that  the  law 

Was  a'  done  awa  — 
The  verra  thing  ye  wad  be  at. 

But  hark  ye  now,  billies ! 

(  Howe'er  guid  your  will  is  ) 
The  weakest,  ye  ken,  maun  fa'  back  ; 

Gif  the  states  sen'  agen 

Twal'  thousan'  arm'd  men, 
It  maks  na  what  deil  ye'd  be  at. 


WHISKEY.  387 


—  1791  — 

WHISKEY. 


In  reply  to  David  Bruce's  address  "To  Whiskey,"  on 
I>age  381,  Hugh  Henry  Brackenridge,  a  distinguished 
lawyer  and  politician  of  Pittsburgh,  and  a  voluminous 
writer  in  prose  and  verse,  published  the  following.  The 
part  which  Brackenridge  took  in  the  Whiskey  Insur 
rection  gives  a  peculiar  interest  to  this  poem  —  he,  in 
t  he  opinion  of  many,  having  been  guilty  himself  of  the 
sedition  wilh  which  ho  charges  Bruce, 


Your  rouse*  rins  glib  thro'  a  my  veins ; 

I  find  it  at  my  finger  en's: 

An'  but  a  gouk  that  has  nae  brains, 

Wad  it  deny, 
That  mony  a  time,  baith  wit  and  sense 

If  can  supply. 

Far  better  than  the  drink  ea'd  wine  ; 
Wi'  me  compar'd  'tis  wasli  for  swine  : 
Ae  gill  is  just  as  guid  as  nine, 

And  fills  as  fou'  ; 
It  is  nae  very  long  sinsyne, 

Ye  prov'd  it  true. 

That  time  ye  made  sae  muckle  noise, 
About  the  tax  they  ca'  Excise ; 
And  got  the  name  o'  Whiskey  Boys. 

Frae  laland  glakes ; 
That  cam1  sae  far,  nae  verra  wise, 

To  gie  ye  pa  ikes. 

Tho'  I  may  say't  amang  oursel's, 

Ye  gacd  o'er  far  wi'  your  pelmells, 

On  N[eville]  t  and  the  gauger  W[ells,]  || 

And  ither  louns. 
Far  better  ye  had  drank  your  gills, 

And  eat  your  scons. 


388  WHISKEY. 

It  was  a  kittle  thing  to  take 
The  government  sae  by  the  neck, 
To  thrapple  everything  and  break 

Down  rule  and  laws  ; 
And  make  the  public  ship  a  wreck, 

Without  guid  cause, 

'Twere  safer  ye  had  tulzied  here, 
Wi'  chiels  that  dinna  muckle  care 
To  gouge  a  wee  bit,  or  pu'  hair, 

And  no  complain  ; 
But  a'  the  tugs  and  rugings  bear, 

Or  let  alane. 

The  warst  is,  but  to  get  a  lesson, 
If  some  ane  puts  ye  i'  the  session, 
To  take  a  prie  o'  spiritual  sneeshin 

Frae  J[ohn]  MeM[illan.]§ 
Wha'l  say  o'er  ye  a  backward  blissing. 

When  ye're  nae  willing. 

But  wha'ist  o'  ye  mak's  the  verse, 
Sae  very  kittle  and  sae  terse, 
That  in  the  Gazzat  gies  me  praise  ? 

They  say  'tis  Bruce  ; 
I  canna  half  sae  weel  rehearse  : 

Tak'  my  excuse. 

I'm  mair  among  unletter'd  jocks 

Than  well-lear'd  doctors  wi'  their  buiks  ; 

Academies  and  college  nuika 

I  dinna  ken  ; 
And  seldom  wi'  but  kintra  folks, 

Hae  I  been  benn. 

Ye  canna  then  expect  a  phrase, 
Like  them  ye  get  in  poets'  lays  ; 
For  where's  the  man  that  now-a-days. 

Can  sing  like  Burns, 
Whom  Nature  taught  her  ain  strathspreys, 

And  now  she  mourns. 


TO    ALBERT   <GALLATTN.  389 


S  dinna  like  to  sign  my  name, 

By  tliat  o'  Whiskey,  fie  for  shame ! 

I  had  a  better  ane  at  hauie  ; 

In  town  or  -city. 
Whore  u    w>ere  glad  to  uet  a  dram 

O'  AQUA  VIT/K. 


*  Rouse,  praise.       f  That  is.  Whiskey, 

i  General  John  Neville,  the  chief  inspector  of  Wt-s- 
l.vrn  Pennsylvania.  See  pages  78,  8<>, 

ii  Benjamin  Wells,  the  collector  of  Fayette  county, 
•and  John  Wells,  the -collector  of  Westmoreland. 

§  That  is,  to  take  a  pinch  of  spiritual  snuff  from  the 
Reverend  John  McMillan— of  whom,  see  Joseph 
Smith's  Old  Redstone  and  History  of  Jefferson  College, 


—  1788  — 

TO  ALBERT  G  ALL  ATI N. 


The  following,  from  the  pen  of  David  Bruce,  was 
written  immediately  after  Gallatin's  third  election, 
</allatin  played  a  conspicuous  pnrt  in  Southwestern 
Pennsylvania  in  the  last  decade  of  the  Eighteenth  cen 
tury.  His  residence  of  stone,  at  New  Geneva,  on  the 
Monougahela,  is  still  in  a  good  state  of  preservation.  In 
1786,  or  thereabout,  in  association  with  several  others,  he 
erected  the  first  glass  works  west  of  the  Alleghany 
Mountains, 

Great  Sir,  for  none  can  doubt  your  claim 

To  that  appendage  to  your  name, 

If  greatness  lies  in  being  first 

On  popular  election  list ; 

But  as  wise  men  sometimes  dispute  it, 

I  will  not  here  say  much  about  it, 

But  leave  to  your  own  calculation 

To  fix  the  scale  of  reputation, 

And  find  the  diff'rence  'twixt  fair  fame 

And  th'  ill'got  "  whistling  of  a  name." 

The  Muse,  with  gratulation  fit, 
Hails  you,  on  your  third  tribuneship.* 


390  TO   ALBERT    OALLATIN. 


O  !  may  your  fortune  be  more  happy, 
Than  what  befell  the  Roman  Gracchi. 
Like  you,  they  did  their  best  endeavor 
To  make  the  public  balance  waver, 
By  throwing  weights  i'  th'  pop'lar  side. 
Because  they  could  make  better  by't. 
(For  things  being  weiiih'd  in  even  scale. 
And  distributed  in  just  tale, 
To  each  his  due  proportion  nicking,f 
A  demagogue  can  get  no  picking.) 
They  strove,  like  you,  with  artful  speech, 
To  set  the  poor  against  the  rich. 
Like  you,  they  agitated  laws, 
To  gain  the  popular  applause  ; 
Agrarian  laws,  and  equalizing, 
Men's  properties  and  rights  all  sizing  — 
To  take  the  land,  the  public  stock, J 
And  give't,  for  God's  sake,  to  poor  folk  : 
The  general  interest  of  the  whole 
Being  far  beneath  a  liberal  soul. 
Like  them,  your  motive  is,  you  own, 
To  keep  th'  Aristocracy  down  ; 
But  their's  had  real  life  and  action, 
Your's  but  the  mere  bugbear  of  faction. 


*e> 


But,  Sir,  (if  I  may  be  so  bold,) 
The  likeness  won't  in  all  points  hold. 
The  generous  Gracchi,  tho'  they  wish'd, 
At  home,  'mong  Romans,  to  be  first, 
When  foreign  foes,  with  naughty  threat, 
Dar'd  to  insult  the  Roman  state, 
They  never  carried  factious  zeal, 
To  th'  injury  of  the  commonweal  : 
They  never  taught  degrading  maxims, 
The  vile  resort  of  sinking  factions, 
That  "  national  interest  is  honor," 
And  that,  "  the  weak  8hould  yield  to  the  stronger ;" 
That  "  states,  to  save  some  paltry  pence, 
Ought  not  to  arm  in  just  defence  ;  " 
And  "  peace  a  blessing  is  so  great, 
It  should  be  had  at  any  rate." 


TO    ALBERT    GALLATIN.  391 


No,  Sir,  they  felt  the  public  wrong, 
Their  country's  cause  they  made  their  own. 
And  boldly  on  th'  embattled  plain, 
Fought  to  advance  the  Roman  name. 

Should  any  one  at  me  enquire, 
Why  you're  unlike  this  gallant  pair 
Tn  this  one  point  ?     I'd  answer  this, 
They  Romans  were,  and  you  —  a  Swiss  !|| 

But,  what  I  wanted  most  to  say, 

Was  something  'bout  La  Liberte. 

I  mean  not,  Sir,  that  sober  matron, 

In  homespun  gown  and  plain  white  apron, 

Whom  Jefferson,  in  reverie  frantic. 

Saw,  once,  from  Britain  "cross  th'  Atlantic, " 

Scar'd  off  (Alas !  it  should  alarm  us,) 

By  taxes,  debts,  and  fleets  and  armies. 

No,  no  ;  I  mean  that  fine  French  lady, 

Of  whom,  they  say,  Voltaire  was  daddy, 

Dry-nurs'd  and  fondled  in  the  straw, 

Like  Gipsy's  brat  by  Jean  Rousseau. 

Her  Orleans'  Duke  brought  up  to  court. 

And  kept  for  profit,  more  than  sport ; 

But  Madame  often  took  a  caper 

With  Sieyes,  and  Mirabeau,  and  Necker, 

And  sometimes  had  a  tete-a-tete 

With  our  American  Fayette. 

Till,  going  'mong  the  lower  gentry, 

She  danced  in  every  lane  and  entry 

The  Carmagnole  with  Sans-Culottes, 

Or  took  a  game  at  cutting  throats ; 

And  often,  as  she  took  the  notion, 

Would  go  to  Place  de  Revolution, 

And  see  her  lovers,  with  great  pleasure, 

Completely  shav'd  with  national  razor  :^f 

At  length,  with  murder,  rapine,  pillage. 

She  rioted  in  every  village, 

Drove  off  the  just,  the  wise,  the  good, 

And  made  the  country  red  with  blood. 


392  TO    ALBERT    GALLATI.Y. 


Some  say,  this  lad}7  cross'd  the  sea, 
With  French  Ambassador  Genet, 
And  that  a  certain  factions  party 
Did  give  the  jade  a  welcome  hearty, 
Tho'  Washington  at  her  reception, 
Frown'd  sternly,  and  deny'd  protection1. 
But,  since  of  late,  the  nymph's  supporters 
Begin  to  fai)  her  on  all  quarters, 
She  has,  they  say,  to  you  come  weeping, 
And  you  have  taren  her  into  keeping. 

Then  keep  her,  Sir  ;  restrain  her  roaming, 
We  do  not  want  her  to  be  common. 
For  us,  we'd  rather  entertain 
The  decent,  chaste,  and  modest  dame, 
Whom  Jefferson  saw  in  his  dream. 


*  This  was  written  immediately  after  GallatirTs 
Third  election  to  a  seat  in  Congress,  in  1798. 

t  Alluding  to  the  practice  of  keeping  tallies  by 
notched  sticks. 

t  The  elder  Gracchus  proposed  ft  law  to  divide  the 
Conquered  lands  among  the  poor. 

tiallatin  was  born  and  educated  in  Genevas  hence 
the  name  of  New  Geneva,  his  residence  on  the  Monon- 
jrahela.  Bruce  seems  to  take  delight  in  hitting  the  Hes 
sians  and  other  mercenary  soldiers  of  Germany  over  the 
>houlder  of  Gallatin. 

g  Thomas  Jefferson,  in  his  "Notes  on  Virginia," 
speaking  of  Great  Britain,  says,  "Her  liberty  has 
crossed  the  Atlantic." 

£  The  Guillotine,  so  called  by  the  facetious  French. 


Bruce  refers  to  Gallatin  quite  frequently  in  his  po 
ems  —  in  his  address  to  Brackenridge,  as  follows. 


A  story,  Lad,  begins  to  rin, 

That  you're  owre  great  wi'  Gallatin, 

The  wily  Frenchman, 
And  that  again  to  put  him  in 

Is  your  intention. 


DEMOCRATIC  DOGGEREL.        393 

Ye  ken  this  slee,  auld-farran  knave 
Has  gieti  the  government  a  heave, 
Wi'  intent  to  throw  it  i'  the  grave 

0'  mobbish  ruin, 
That  he  an'  Willie  Thrum*  might  weave 

A  braw  French  new  ane. 

Ye  ken  how,  wi'  ilk  art  an'  shift, 
He  excused  French  robbery  an'  theft, 
An',  wi'  his  will,  wad  let  nane  lift 

A  han'  again  'em, 
But  rather  wad  gie  them  a  gift, 

Than  strive  to  restrain  'em. 

<!if  sic  a  man  be  sent  again 
Whare  he  can  put  his  plots  in  train, 
To  set  (which  ay  has  been  his  aim) 

The  mob  a  madding; 
What  pledge  hae  honest  peacefu'  meri 

For  house  or  hauding  ? 


William  Findley  was  a  weaver  by  trade. 
—  1799  — 

DEMOCRATIC  DOGGEREL. 


From  the  Recollections  of  James  B.  Oliver,  publish 
ed  in  Frank  Cowan's  Paper  in  April,  1874,  the  following 
extract  is  taken  — 


The  election  of  1799  was  very  exciting.  This  was 
about  the  beginning  of  politics  in  this  country.  Brack 
en  ridge  was  a  very  fiery  Democrat.  He  wrote  burlesque 
poetry  on  almost  every  prominent  Federal  candidate. 
I  can  recollect  some  of  his  verses  to  this  day. 

Tom  Collins  down 

From  Wilkin's  town 
Came  to  the  crowd's  assistance  ; 

The  little  rogue 

With  Dublin  brogue, 
He  grinned  and  drew  his  fist  once. 


394        DEMOCRATIC  DOGGEREL. 

Steel  Sample  stood 

That  man  of  blood 
With  that  slim  thing  his  student  ; 

Prepare,  says  he, 

I  clearly  see, 
This  meeting  has  no  good  in't. 

An  Oli-ver 

Also  was  there  — 
Not  Cromwell  for  he's  dead  — 

He  wasn't  warm 

And  did  no  harm, 
Slipped  home  and  went  to  bed. 

This  referred  to  Oliver  Ormsby,  one  of  the  first  set- 
tiers  of  Pittsburgh,  and  not  to  any  of  the  Oliver  family. 

A  pistol  broke 

Without  a  lock, 
Was  seized  by  Andrew  Willock 

Who  swore  he'd  shoot  down 

Some  man  of  the  town, 
Or  he  would  have  some  ill  luck. 

There  was  a  good  deal  more  of  this  doggerel,  but  I 
ran  not  recollect  it.  The  Democratic  party  was  success 
ful  that  Fall. 


Yes,  the  Democratic  party  was  successful,  and 
Kraokenridge  was  rewarded  for  his  services  with  a  seat 
on  the  Supreme  Bench  of  Pennsylvania,  to  the  disgust 
of  Bruce,  causing  him  to  exclaim  — 

It's  unco  fine  to  see  your  wit. 

Adorning  Israel's  filthy  sheet;* 

What's  worse  —  waes  me,  that  I  should  see  it ! '— 

My  Brackie's  Muse! 
Tuning  her  dainty,  winsome  reed, 

For  sic  a  use! 


*  The  Herald  of  Liberty,  published  by  John   Israel, 
at  Washington,  Pennsylvania. 


THE    WORTHIES.  395 


—  1801  - 

A   REVIEW  OF  THE   WORTHIER 


BY  DA  VXD  BRUCE. 


First  comes  [McKean,]*  a  mighty 

For  skill  in  war,  an'  law,  man, 
Wham  sovereign  mob,  wi'  awfu'  nod, 

Has  set  aboon  us  a',  man, 
0   politics  he  kens  the  tricks, 

As  a'  his  actions  shaw,  man : 
He  cares  ua  whither,  this  side  or  tither. 

Sue  he  can  hit  the  ba',  man. 

There's  D[allas,]f  now,  wi'  actor's  bow:, 

Sae  showy  an'  sae  braw,  man, 
Wi'  frothy  scum,  au'  sleek  it  tonguo, 

He  far  outshines  them  a',  man. 
He  has  in's  han'  a  speech  for  Tarn, 

Or  some  report  <>'  law,  man  — 
Na,  na  —  speak  saft !   It  is  a  draft 

He  means  on  France  to  draw.  man. 

Now,  honest  folks!  here  comes  T[ench]  C[ox,]"j; 

He  stately  walks  awa',  man, 
As  auce.  wi'  pride,  by  the  warrior's  side, 

In  Ph  [ila]  d  [elphi]  a,  man. 
Ane  greater  now  than  Willy  H[owc,]  |j 

C[ox]  to  his  friends  can  shaw,  man  ; 
Ilk  ither  name  to  Tarn  [McKean], 

For  warlike  deeds  looks  sma',  man. 

Now  F[indley]§  comes,  a  man  o'  thrums. 

He's  thrown  his  pirns  awa',  man, 
His  loom,  an'  gears,  an'  creeshie  wares, 

An's  ra'en  to  making  law,  man  ; 
But  were  this  Ian'  rul'J  on  his  plan, 

We'd  now  be  at  the  wa',  man  ; 
Or  had,  at  best,  a  ravel'd  hesp, 

At  which  to  tug   an'  draw,  man. 


396  THE    WORTHIES. 


Here's  G[allatin,]*[[  wha  ance  did  sin. 

The  government  to  thraw,  man, 
Yet  this  confest,  still  does  his  best 

Fierce  discord's  coal  to  blaw,  man. 
Wi'  foreign  twang,  an'  reasons  wrang. 

He  keeps  an  unco  jaw,  man  ; 
An'  says,  to  fight  for  national  right 

Nae  honour  is  ava,  man. 

Wha  hae  we  here?  It's  Brack,**  I  swear! 

A  name  that  was  na  sma',  man, 
A  man  o'  fun,  the  Muse's  son, 

He  bore  a  great  eclat,  man. 
But  och  !  what  pity,  that  wise  an    witty 

Together  seldom  draw,  man  ! 
Wi'  winding  cruiks,  thro'  holes  an1  nuiks, 

His  credit's  run  awa',  man. 

That  wizzened  shape  !   Is  it  an  ape. 

Or  something  stuffed  with  straw,  man  ? 
It's  crest  it  cocks,  an'  has  a  vox, 

Et  nil  prefer •ea,  man. 
But  I  maun  tell  ye,  it's  J[ohnny]  S[railie],ft 

A  lad  can  fight  them  a\  man, 
Wi'  mob  at  heels,  he'll  gar  the  chiels 

Vote  right,  or  run  awa',  man. 

Here's  Willy  [Hoge],|J  a  name  in  vogue, 

Amang  the  lower  raw,  man, 
An  honest  man,  wi'  notions  wrang, 

'Bout  liberty  an'  law,  man. 
Sic  is  the  thirst  o'  being  first, 

Which  burns  in  some  folks'  maw,  man, 
That  first  in  kitchen  is  mair  bewitching 

Than  equal  in  the  ha',  man. 

Sure  ye  hae  heard  o'  Absy  [Baird]  |||| 

Ane  skilled  in  pill  an'  sa',  man, 
Tho'  it  is  said,  to  ply  his  trade 

He  is  a  wee  thing  slaw,  man  ; 


THE    WORTHIES.  397 

But  he's  the  chap  can  turn  the  caup, 
An'  round  the  bicker  ca',  man  — 

He'll  driok  an1  sruoke,  an'  gain  a  vote 
Wi'  onj  o'  them  a',  man. 

Amang  fche  lave,  here's  Sleepy  Dave,§§ 

Tho'  hindmost  in  the  raw,  man  ; 
Yet  he's  the  wight,  wha  has  the  sleight 

The  giddy  herd  to  ca\  man. 
In  his  back-room,  they  under  thumb 

Their  wheedling  projects  draw,  man, 
He  an'  his  gang,  Jem,  Jack,  and  Tarn, 

An'  printing  Jack,*[f^f  an'  a'  man. 

If  I  had  time,  or  could  find  rhyme 

Their  characters  to  draw,  man, 
There's  rnony  mair  o'  Worthies  rare 

In  Pennsylvania,  man. 
I  hope  these  few,  I've  brought  in  view,, 

When  we're  dead  and  awa',  man, 
In  this  my  sang,  may,  flourish  lang, 

Vivaf  Respublic",  man. 


'*  Thomas  McKean,  Governor  of  Pennsylvania. 

t  Alexander  F.  Dallas,  Secretary  of  the  Common 
wealth  of  Pennsylvania. 

}  Tench  Cox,  a  prominent  turn-coat  of  the  times. 

i|  Sir  William  Howe,  the  British  General,  whom  Cox 
is  said  to  have  accompanied  in  his  triumphal  entry  in 
to  Philadelphia. 

g  William  Findley,  the  first  M'ember  of  Congress  from 
Westmoreland,  and  the  author  of  a  History  of  the 
Whiskey  Insurrection  in  which  he  played  a  conspicu 
ous  part, 

1j  Albert  Gallatin,  also  a  participant  in  the  Whiskey 
Insurrection,  afterward  Secretary  of  the  Treasury  of  the 
United  States. 

**  H.  H.  Brackenridge,  of  whose  talents  Bruce  had  a. 
high  opinion. 

ff  John  Smilie,  Member  of  Congress  from  Fayette 
county.  "This  gentleman  has  been  an  actor  in  the  po 
litical  scene,  since  the  Revolution,  like  his  compeer 
Findley  ;  but  has  been  brought  into  notice  by  the  exer 
cise  of  far  less  substantial  talents.  His  chief  faculty  is 


398  THE    INDIAN    CHIEF. 


loquacity,  and  a  facility  of  making  popular  harangues  : 
together  with  the  art  of  all  demagogues,  of  going  along 
with  the  inclinations  and  humors  of  the  multitude,  so 
that  by  seeming  to  follow  they  may  lead."—  Bruce. 

ft  William  Hoge,  "a  man  of  understanding,  but  of 
strong  and  unconquerable  prepossessions." —  Itruce. 

HI  Dr.  Absolom  Baird. 

g?  David  Acheson,  an  Irishman  sent  to  the  legisla 
ture  from  Washington  county  before  he  was  naturalized 
and  obliged  to  vacate  his  seat.  From  his  slow  and  de 
liberative  appearance,  mistaken  for  stupidity,  he  re 
ceived  the  soubriquet  of  "Sleepy  Dave."  Bruce  refers 
to  him  in  another  poem  — 

Perhaps  the  legislative  Dive 
Dosing  owre  projects  deep  an'  grave, 
His  drowsy  head  fra'e  sleep  to  save 

Has  ta'eri  a  start, 
An'  sung  a  wild  discordant  stave 

To  th'  Irish  Harp. 

ff  John  Israel,  the  publisher  of  the  Herald  of  Liber 
ty,  at  Washington. 


—  1804  — 

THE  INDIAN  CHIEF. 


That  it  may  serve  no  other  end  than  just  a  kind 
memento  of  Sally  Hastings*  —  the  "warbler"'  of  Wash 
ington  county  three  quarters  of  a  century  ago,  I  include 
in  this  collection  the  following  poem  from  her  facile 
pen,  "The  Indian  Chief:  A  True  Story:  The  circum 
stances  took  place  in  the  year  1804"  —  which,  in  detail, 
the  curious  reader  will  find  in  the  fifth  chapter  of  David 
Elliott's  Life  of  Elisha  Macurdy,  published  in  Allegheny 
in  1848. 


See,  lowly  bending  on  his  knees 

Wiandot's  warlike  chief,f 
With  anxious  doubts  disturbed,  he  prays, 

And  pours  forth  all  his  grief. 

Sick,  and  opprest  with  pains  and  scars, 

He  bows  before  the  throne, 
And  there  unburdens  all  his  cares, 

To  Grod  (tho'  loved)  unknown. 


THE    INDIAN    CHIEF.  399 

"0  thou,  great  Spirit,  from  on  high. 

Look  down,  I  thee  implore; 
Instruct  my  heart,  direct  my  way, 

And  guide  me  evermore. 

"  Shall  I  the  darling  of  my  breast, 

My  infant  son  resign  ; 
And  leave  him  in  a  land  of  Christ, 

With  ministers  of  thine?        « 

"  And  wilt  thou  him  a  Christian  raise, 

A  minister  to  be, 
That  he  may  come  and  preach  thy  grace, 

To  his  own  tribe  and  me? 

*•  0  Spirit  good,  thy  high  decree 

And  great  design  impart ; 
If  this  thy  will,  6  heal  thou  me, 

And  ease  my  troubled  heart. " 

The  Grod  of  Mercy,  from  on  high, 

Regarding  his  request, 
"  Looked  down,  with  pity's  softest  eye," 

And  eased  his  lab'ring  breast. 

Three  times  he  prayed,  "0  Spirit  good, 

Where  shall  I  leave  my  son  ? 
To  speed  my  feet,  mark  out  my  road, 

Send  thine  own  angel  down. " 

His  suit  was  heard,  and  mercy  moved 

Th'  eternal  Father's  breast, 
To  send  an  angel,  whom  he  loved, 

To  guide,  and  give  him  rest. 

The  mother's  screams  and  wild  distress, 

Unmoved,  the  warrior  hears  ; 
And,  thro'  the  lonely  wilderness, 

His  smiling  infant  bears. 

And  o'er  Ohio's  silver  flood 

The  savage  hero  hies  ; 
And  there,  unto  the  Christian's  God, 

Consigns  the  blooming  prize. 


THE    INDIAN    CHIEF. 

Twas  here,  in  presbyt'ry  combined, 

The  ministers  of  God, 
A  solemn  court  in  council  joined, 

To  spread  his  Word  abroad  : 

When,  from  Sandusky's  distant  plains, 
The  gallant  chief  draws  near  ; 

And  in  his  graceful  arms  sustains 
His  infant  son,  most  dear. 

v>  Hail  !  fathers,  brothers,  God  has  taught 

His  truth  and  grace  to  you : 
To  you  my  only  son  I've  brought, 

That  He  may  teach  him  too. 

v-  Say,  will  you  take  my  little  boy  ; 

Will  you  his  father  be  ; 
And  him  instruct  and  qualify, 

To  come  and  preach  to  me  ? 

u  Will  yoi*  bim  guide,  instruct,  and  guard., 

With  strict  impartial  care  ; 
From  evil  company  retard, 

And  ev'ry  sinful  snare  ?  " 

"  Yes,  brother  ;  we  with  joy  indeed 

This  tender  pledge  receive  : 
We  will  him  clothe,  instruct,  and  feed  — 

Grace,  only  God  can  give." 

"  Will  you  then  pray  the  God  you  love, 

To  grant  him  grace  divine, 
And  ev'ry  gift;  each  want  remove  ; 

To  ev'ry  good  incline  ?  " 

••  This  we  will  do,"  consents  each  one, 

"  And  with  parental  care, 
We  will  regard  your  little  son, 

And  intercede,  by  prayer  — 

:'  With  God,  who  faithful  is,  and  true, 
And  hears  his  children's  cries, 

That  he  will  graciously,  from  you, 
Accept  this  sacrifice." 


THE    INDIAN    CHIEF.  401 


Well  pleased,  the  grateful  chief  bestows 
The  off'ring  of  his  heart  — 

A  manly  tear  his  cheek  bedews, 
As  he  prepares  to  part. 

Low  bending  o'er  his  son  asleep, 

He  pours  a  parting  prayer ; 
While,  in  his  breast,  alternate  weep 

Love,  gratitude,  and  care. 

a  Farewell,  my  son,"  the  warrior  cries, 

"My  son  I  dearly  love  : 
If  we  ne'er  meet  below  the  skies, 

I  trust  we'll  meet  above." 

Now  joy  and  admiration  share, 

Alternate,  ev'ry  breast ; 
And  in  the  good  Macurdy's  care, 

They  place  their  infant  guest. 

The  little  prattler's  op'ning  charms 

His  leisure  time  employs  : 
He  in  fair  Mira's  fost'ring  arms, 

A  mother's  care  enjoys. 

See  how  heav'n's  condescending  King 

Did  grant  the  savage  prayer 
Of  noble  Barnet,  and  did  bring 

His  son  in  safety  here. 

Will  not  each  heart,  that  loves  his  grace, 

Join  in  this  sweet  request ; 
That  he  will  raise  Sandusky's  race, 

Sandusky's  chief  will  bless  ? 

Grant  him  thy  Spirit,  0  our  God  ! 

Thy  healing  power  do  show  ; 
And  purify,  thro'  pard'ning  blood, 

Himself  and  people  too. 


*  Different  Poems :  To  which  is  added  a  Descriptive 
Account  of  a  Family  Tour  to  the  West  in  the  year  1800, 
in  a  Letter  to  a  Lady:  By  Sally  Hastings.  Lancaster : 
Printed  and  sold  by  William  Dickson :  The  Benefit  of 


402  PLEASANT  onro. 


the  Authored:   1808.    In  her  address  "to  Critics/    she 
styles  herself  k<  the  little  warMer." 

t  This  Indian  went  by  the  name  of  Barnet  —  his  son 
.7ohn  Barnet.  The  Indian  name  of  the  pious  father  wav- 
rnunqusv.  signifying  Flyhig  Arrow. 

—  I80J  — 

PLEASANT  OHIO. 


In  1801,  a  company  was  formed  at  Granville.  Massa 
chusetts,  with  the  intention  of  making  a  settlement  in 
the  state  of  Ohio,  The  project  met  with  great  favor  and 
much  enthusiasm  was  elicited.  The  following  stanzas-,, 
are  from  a  soag  of  the  day  to  further  the  project. 

When  rambling  o'er  these  mountains 

And  roeks,  where  ivies  grow 
Thick  as  the  hairs  upon  your  bead, 

'Mongst  which  you  cannot  go  -r 
Great  storms  of  snow,  cold  winds  that   blowr 

We  scarce  can  undergo  ; 
Says  I,  my  boys,  we'll  leave  this  place 

For  the  pleasant  Ohio. 

Our  precious  friends  that  stay  behind, 

We're  sorry  now  to  leave ;. 
But  if  they'll  stay  and  break  their  shins. 

For  them  we'll  never  grieve  ; 
Adieu,  ray  friends  1  come  on  my  dears, 

This  journey  we'll  not  forego, 
And  we  will  settle  Licking  Creek, 

In  yonder  pleasant  Ohio. 


—  1810  — 

POLLY  WILLIAMS. 


The  following  ballad  was  written  by  Samuel  Little, 
<>t  Fayette  county,  soon  after  the  murder  of  Polly  Wil 
liams,  May  12th,  1810.  It  has  been  published  several 
times  in  the  local  newspapers,  and  with  many  varia 
tions  from  the  text  here  given,  by  A.  F.  Hill,  in  his 


"POLLY    WILLIAMS.  403 

:novel  "  The  White  Rocks,  or  Tlve  Robber's  Den,"  to 
which  the  Reader  is  referred  for  an  admirable  expres 
sion  of  the  effect  which  the  tragedy  had  upon  the  people 
of  the  neighborhood.  The  crudities  of  the  following 
version,  from  a  pamphlet  published  in  Uniontown, 
about  lorty  years  ago,  commend  its  preservation  if  for 
no  other  reason  than  that  of-comparison  with  Mr.  H.ill'i< 
revision.  Mr.  Little  was  present  when  the  body  of  the 
murdered  woman,  was  removed  from  the  base  of  the 
White  Rocks,  and  deposited  in  a  grave  at  the  foot  of  the 
mountain. 


A  lily  ooce  fell  by  a,  mower's  rude  prowess, 

Lambs  perished    while   licking  the   murderer's 

hands; 

A  sweet,  blooming  virgin  was  slain  by   her  lover. 
While  waiting   for   transport  in    Hymen's  soft 
ba^nds. 

Long  rains  swelled  Hie  rivers,  black  clouds  hid  tfoe 

mountains, 

The  vales  lay  enveloped  i«  misty  array; 
I  climbed  the  wet  hills,    and,    with    heart-rending 

horror, 

Surveyed  the  sad  spot  where  all  mangled   she 
lay. 

Grim  rose  the  huge  rocks  and  deep  sunk  were  the 

caverns,,  ,_  > 
With  thorns  and  keen  briars  the  place  was  o'er- 

grown ; 
Above,  the  dark  brow    of    the    mountain    stood 

frowning, 

In  the  valley  sad  midnight  had  built   her   dark 
throne. 

Sweet  girl,  'twas  too  rude  for  thy  nuptial  chamber, 
Was  it  meet  that  a  bride  on   the   cold   ground 

should  lay  ? 
That  the  howling  of  wolves   and    the   screams   of 

the  panther 
Should  furnish  the  songs  of   thy  nuptial  day  ? 


104  POLLY    WILLIAMS. 

How  long  did'st  thou   toil   up    the    steep,  rugged 

mountain  ? 

How  weary,  how  fainting  thy  delicate  frame  ? 
Yet  fond  hope  still  cheered  thee,  the  moment   ap 
proaching 

To  crown   thy  best  hopes  and    to    banish    all 
shame. 

Say,  when  did  wild  gasping  succeed  to    fond    toy 
ing? 
Ah,  when  did'st  thou  find   the   extent  of   thy 

woes  ? 

When  did  the  fond  lover  transform  to  a  demon  ? 
His  purpose  accursed  how  could  he  disclose  ? 

I  see  thee  all  pale  and  all  trembling  before  him  — 
I  hear  thy  entreaties  —  thy  heart-piercing 

cries ; 
But    poor   lonely    victim !     no    helper    was    near 

thee  — 
No  father  —  no  mother,  to  answer  thy  sighs. 

The  conflict  begins,  his  hands  are  uplifted  ; 

I  see  thy  blood   streaming  —  thy  screams   are 

in  vain  — 
Hough  rocks  will  not  hear  thee,  his  heart   is  still 

harder  — 

'Twas  ad'mant  from   hell    that   composed     his 
frame. 

Those  fair  eyes  so  lately  with  tenderness  beaming 
Now  roll  with  wild  horror  and  smart  with  keen 
pain ; 

And  soon,  very  soon,  will  be  closed  up  forever  — 
No  sun  of  to-morrow  will  greet  them  again. 

At  thy  wide-gaping  wounds  thy  poor  spirit  waits 

fluttering  — 

A  path  all  unknown  she  must  quickly   pursue  ; 
A  faint,  a  last  sigh  from  thy  bursting  heart  whis 
pered, 

"  Poor   traitor !    poor    murderer !    I   bid    thee 
adieu !  " 


PCVLLY    WILLIAMS.  40d 


Yo   rocks,  ye   were   marble,  or   sure    you'd    have 

melted  ; 

But  with  the  curs'd  traitor  ye   too   were   com 
bined, 
Though  stained  with  their  heart's  blood  ye   still 

stand  relentless  ; 

Betrayed   and   deserted,    no    friend    could    she 
find. 

Ye  caverns   that  groaned    when    her   heart  strings 

were  breaking, 

Could  not  you  concealed  the  poor  tortured  fair  ? 
Or  your  grim  jaws  expanding  have  seized  her  tor 
mentor 
And  plunged  his  black  soul  to  eternal  despair? 

And  where  slept  the  thunder,  the  lightning's  red 

anger  ? 

Could  no  friendly  genius  have  darted  it  down  ? 
Had  heaven  forgot  to  be  present  in  danger, 

When    lovers    proved    murderers    and    helpers 
were  gone  ? 

Still  groan,  ye  deep  caverns!  Still  shriek  ye  dark 

alleys ! 
Let  the   lost  murderer   witness,  who  near  you 

shall  stray, 
The    long-lengthened    anguish,    the    soul-rending 

tortures 
That  closed  the  sad  eve  of  her  nuptial  day, 

Poor  injured  spirit,  thy  murderer  is  living  - — 
For  Justice,  grown  weary,  forbore  to  pursue  ; 

By  lawyers  defended,  by  jurors  acquitted, 
His  presence  detested  still  tortures  our  view. 

If  justice  on  earth  is  too  often  perverted. 

If  lawyers  can  rescue  the  worst  of  mankind  ; 
The  great  Court  of  Heaven  is  not  to  be  bribed  - — 

There  poor  injured  innocence  a  refuge  can  find. 


406  POLLY    WILLIAMS. 


Twas   piteous,  poor  Polly,   that    strangers'   rude 

shoulders 
Through  thickets  should  bear  thee  down  to  thy 

long  home, 

Rough  pines  of  the  mountain  thy  soft  limbs  sup 
porting, 
And  no  gentle  relative  weep  at  thy  tomb. 

Twas  the  cold  hand  of  strangers  that   placed   thy 

death  pillow, 

That  closed   thy  sunk   eyes  and    thy   winding- 
sheet  gave ; 

No  friend   stood  around  thee   to  sing  a   soft   re 
quiem, 
No  tear  of  a  parent  to  soften  thy  grave. 

Ye  spirits  that  sit  round   the   grave  of   the   mur 
dered, 
Each    evening   chant    forth    her     unparalleled 

woes! 

Ye  cold  clods  that  hide  her,  lie  light   on   her  bo 
som  — 

Once  torn  by  rough   rocks,  thy   soft  flesh   asks 
repose. 

Sweet  sufferer,  sleep  on  !  and  may  heaven  protect 

thee! 

May  angels  sit  watching  thy  innocent  clay, 
Till  the  last  trumpet  sounds,  and   thy   soft  slum 
bers  breaking 
Calls  thee  home  to  the  realms  of  ineffable  day. 


—  1810  — 

THE  MURDER  OF  POLLY  WILLIAMS. 


BY  A.  F.  HILL. 


The  sun  is  glowing  at  the  close  of  day, 
Bathing  the  landscape  with  celestial  fire ; 

The  earth  is  decked  with  all  the  flowers  of  May, 
And  hills  and  dales  smile  in  their  fresh  attire. 


POLLY    WILLIAMS.  407 


The  mountains  rear  their  lofty  heads  on  high  — 
They  too,  are  clad  with  foliage  fresh  and  green  — 

As  though  they  fain  would  kiss  the  azure  sky, 
And  thus  add  grace  of  action  to  the  scene. 

The  evening  air  is  pleasant,  calm  and  still  ; 

No  sighing  breeze  or  tender  zephyr  blows 
Against  the  face  of  the  ascending  hill, 

To  stir  the  wild- vine  or  the  mountain  rose. 

Half  hid  among:  the  trees,  full  many  a  cliff 
Clings  to  the  mountain  side ;  but  there  is  one 

That  rises  far  above  the  rest,  as  if 

To  catch  the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

So  high  it  towers,  that,  from  its  lofty  crest, 
Full  thirty  miles  of  rolling  hills  are  seen, 

All  in  the  pleasant  garb  of  spring-tide  dressed  ; 
And  many  vales  that,  sleeping,  lie  between. 

What  quiet  reigns !  the  air  how  soft  and  mild  ; 

The  old  gray  rocks  how  silent  and  how  grave ; 
How  motionless  the  vines  and  bushes  wild ; 

The  trees  how  still,  their  branches  do  not  wave. 

But  hark  !  what  piercing  scream  breaks  on  the 
air 

From  yonder  cliff  that  rears  so  high  its  crest  ? 
What  dread,  what  danger,  or  what  pain  is  there? 

What  mortal  so  affrighted  or  distressed? 

Or  was  it  but  a  panther  on  the  height, 

That  shrieked  so  like  a  human  in  dismay  ? 

Did  it  but  call  a  comrade  for  the  night, 
To  go  and  seek  some  unsuspecting  prey  ? 

Hark !  'tis  repeated  !  'tis  a  human  shriek  ! 

A  maiden's  voice !  —  it  calls  aloud  in  fear  ! 
What  danger  threatens  ?  What  aid  does  she  seek  ? 

Or  who  is  there  in  this  wild  place  to  hear  ? 

Do  prowling  wolves  come  swift  upon  her  track, 
Emboldened  by  the  near  approach  of  night  ? 


408  I'OLLY    WILLIAMS. 


And  does  she,  to  avert  the  mad  attack, 
Flee'to  the  summit  of  the  rocky  height? 

Ah,  no  !     Behold  a  more  vindictive  foe  — 
A  murderer  !  she  struggles  in  his  grasp ; 

He  fain  would  hurl  her  to  the  ground  below  ; 
But  still   she   shrieks,  and   clings  with   frantic 

clasp. 

He  heeds  her  not  —  her  prayers  are  all  in  vain  ; 

His  soul  is  belli.- h  fire  —  his  heart  is  stone ; 
His  rude  hand  thrusts  her  to  the  brink  again  : 

She  shrieks  and  falls,  and  now  the  deed  is  done.. 

At  such  a  deed,  the  blushing  orb  of  day 
Covers  his  face  behind  a  western  hill, 

As  if,  indeed,  ashamed  to  longer  stay, 

And  gaze  on  acts  so  dreadful,  base  and  ill. 

The  murderer  flees,  his  soul  beset  with  fear  ; 

He  starts  away  amid  the  gathering  night ;. 
His  deed  is  seen,  avenging  hands  are  near; 

They  swift  pursue  him  in  his  hasty  flight. 

They've  gone  —  the  murderer  and  avengers  too  : 
He  rushes  down  the  mountain  like  the  wind; 

On  wings  of  vengeance,  they  as  swift  pursue, 
And  leave  the  solemn  scene  of  death  behind. 

Where  yonder  cliff  arises,  draw  thou  near; 

In  awe,  remove  the  covering  from  thy  head  ; 
.Be  grave  and  thoughtful  —  drop  a  silent  tear, 

Thou  standest  in  the  presence   of  the  dead. 

There  lies  the  body,  lifeless,  bruised  and  torn  ; 

The  soul  has  barely  winged  its  flight  away : 
The  wild- vines  sigh,  the  rude  rocks  laugh  in  scorn, 

At  such  a  helpless,  useless  lump  of  clay. 

Ho  beautiful  a  single  hour  ago ; 

So  full  of  life  —  the  home  of  sense  and  light  : 
But  ah,  how  dull,  how  dumb  and  lifeless  now  ; 

How  changed  in  looks,  how  ghastly  to  the  sight. 


POLLY   WILLIAMS.  409 

Ah,  maiden,  what  infatuating  dream 

Hath  brought  thee  here  to  meet  the  murderer's 

wrath  ? 
Did  some  impatient  friend  across  the  stream 

Direct  thy  foot-steps  up  the  mountain  path  ? 

Was  there  a  beckon  from  an  unseen  hand  ? 

A  noiseless  whisper  from  a  silent  breath  ?  — 
To  call  thy  spirit  from  the  lower  land, 

And  urge  thy  body  to  untimely  death  ? 

Oh,  stand'  aside,  impenetrable  veil ! 

That  hides  the  land  of  shadows  from  our  sight ! 
Oh,  let  us  see  the  waiting  friends  that  hail 

The  maiden's  spirit  in  its  upward  flight ! 

Ah,  could  we  see  the  liberated  soul 
Enter  the  portals  of  the  land  above, 

Received  by  waiting  parents  at  the  goal, 
And  clasped  in  arms  of  everlasting  love  ! 

Then  might  we  turn,  without  a  single  tear, 
And  fix  our  gaze  on  the  deserted  clay : 

The  picture  of  the  spirit's  heavenly  cheer 
Would  surely  drive  the  earthly  gloom  away. 

Let  not  the  tender  form  lie  here  to-night ; 

Let  not  the  pale  cheek  catch  the  falling  dew : 
The  mournful  owl  is  screaming  on  the  height, 

As  though  himself  were  filled  with  sorrow  too. 

The  veil  of  night  is  falling  thick  and  fast ; 

The  glow-worm  dances  on  the  mountain  side ; 
On  stealthy  wings,  the  bat  goes  flitting  past  ; 

The  whippoorwill  is  chattering  far  and  wide. 

May  not  some  hungry  wolf  scent  from  afar 
Those  drops  of  blood  that  sprinkle  the  white 
face? 

And  steal  up  in  the  darkness  to  devour 

The  helpless  form  once  full  of  life  and  grace  ? 


410  BEAVER'S  BOOTS. 


flesh  like  this  feed  savage  beasts  of  prey, 
Amorii:   these    lonely    hills,    now    wrapped    in? 

gloom  ? 

Oh,  no!  Come  friends,  hear  the  cold  form  away. 
And,  with  due  rites,  enclose  it  in  the  tomb. 


BEAVER'S  BOOTS. 


Though  the  following  famous  song  belongs  appro 
priately  to  the  political  history  of  the  State  of  Ohio,  it 
is  inserted  here  because  the  hero  belongs  to  the  history 
of  Southwestern-  Pennsylvania  from  the  time  of  the 
War  of  '12  to  the  year  in  which  he  removed  from  Pitts 
burgh  toTrumbull  county,  Ohio,  in  1843,  where  he  died 
in  1877.  He  was  born  in  Somerset  county,  Pennsylva 
nia;  was  a  distinguished  member  of  the  bar  of  West 
moreland  and  Allegheny  counties;  and  a  remarkable 
man  —  a  very  remarkable  man  In  that  he  carried  his 
coarseness  on  his  exterior  while  all  was  fine  within,, 
The  song  WJTS  written  by  John  Greiner,  the  State  Libra 
rian,  a  man  of  fine  literary  and  social  attainments,  who 
fame  into  general  notice  as  a  writer  of  political  songs  in 
Hie  Hard  Cider  campaign  of  1840.  The  circumstances 
which  led  to  its  production  are  as  follows,  as  Mr,  Beaver 
himself  has  given  the  writer  the  story  — 

The  origin  of  the  song  was  the  first  appearance  of 
Mr.  Beaver  in  the  Senate  under  the  most  peculiar  cir 
cumstances.  He  was  elected  in  1845,  before  the  day  of 
numerous  railroads  in  Ohio.  The  session  commenced 
on  the  first  Monday  in  December  ;  the  Whigs  and  Dem 
ocrats  were  a  tie,  and  the  absence  of  one  member  would 
give  the  opposite  party  the  organization  of  the  Senate: 
hence  the  greatest  anxiety  existed  for  every  man  to  be 
promptly  at  his  post.  Mr.  Beaver  went  from  his  home 
at  Newton  Falls,  Trumbull  county,  to  Cleveland,  and 
designed  to  take  a  boat  to  Sandusky  city,  and  thence  to 
ijo  down  theSandusky,  Mansfield  &  Newark  railroad  to 
Newark;  but  no  boat  could  be  procured,  and  he  was 
compelled  to  take  a  wagon  for  Columbus.  The  roads 
were  very  muddy,  and  progress  was  slow.  At  a  distance 
of  twelve  miles  from  Columbus  the  wagon  broke  down 
and  left  the  occupants  sticking  in  the  mud.  This  oc 
curred  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  Monday,  the 
day  on  which  the  legislature  would  meet  at  nine  A.  M. 
Mr.  Beaver  determined  the  Whigs  should  not  sutler  on 
account  of  his  absence,  and  accordingly  started  on  foot. 


BEATER'S   BOOTS.  411 

rih rough  mud  of  any  imaginable  depth,  for  the  capitol, 
.Five  minutes  before  nine  o'clock,  the  Whigs  were  gath 
ered  in  groups  about  the  capitol  deploring  the  absence 
ul  Heaver,  and  lamenting  the  triumph  which  the  Dem* 
ocrats  would  enjoy  in  ten  minutes  in  the  election  of  the 
•officers  of  the  (Senate.  A  niwuber  came  out  of  the  Hall 
nnd  excitedly  declared  to  Mr.  Dennison  (  Wm.,  Jr.,  af 
ro  r \vard  Attorney  (General  of  the  United  States)  that 
.Heaver  ought  to  be  killed  — -  the  bell  by  this  time  having 
been  rung  and  Charles  0.  Cwnvers,  of  Muskingurn,  after 
ward  elected  Speaker,  on  the  floor  making  a  speech  to 
kill  time.  Dennison,  however,  replied  that  Beaver  .had 
.'jome  and  averted  his  deserved  immolation,  at  the  same 
lime  eyeing  a  huge  m  >vmg  ra  iss  so  covered  with  mud 
.as  to  be  barely  recognizable  as  a  human  being,  pro 
pelled  by  two  sturdy  duck-legs  terminated  with  feet 
which  looked  like  a  pair  of  potato-holes.  "No!"  said 
the  excited  member,  "he  has  not  come!"  "Yes,"  re 
plied  Dennison,  "that  is  he,"  pointing  to  the  approach 
ing  mound  of  mud.  "  What!  those  boots  !"  And  from 
Miat  day  "  Beaver's  Boots  "  became  a  byword  for  years 
.in  Ohio  and  furnished  the  Democrats  with  an  inexhaus 
tible  source  of  ridicule  on  the  ablest  member  the  Whigs 
<*iad  in  ihe  Senate  for  the  next  six  years.. 


Strike,  strike  the  harp  I    come,  sweep  the  lyre  ! 
Kindle  and  blaze,  Promethean  tire, 
Tune  up  your  sweetest  dulcet  notes, 
My  ponderous  theme  is  Beaver's  Boots  ! 

Old  Trumbull's  bull  —  a  bull  whose  hide 
Grew  thick  and  tough  —  took  sick  and  died : 
His  soul  went  with  all  other  brutes, 
His  hide  went  into  —  Beaver's  Boots ! 

Millions  of  creeping  things  lie  dead, 
Mingled  and  crushed  beneath  his  tread, 
Two  Insect  Smashers  —  Death  recruits 
His  ranks  in  following  Beaver's  Boots ! 

When  first  they  thundered  up  the  aisle, 
Filled  inside  —  outside  with  Free  Soil. 
The  Senate  hushed  their  fierce  disputes, 
And  speechless  gazed  at  Beaver's  Boots ! 


412  THE   LILY    OF   THE   WEST. 

The  tangled  hair  of  Whitman*  rose, 
And  pale  with  fear  grew  Graham'sf  nose, 
Byers£  alarmed  and  backward  shoots, 
Aghast,  amazed  at  Beaver's  Boots ! 

The  Chase||  was  up,  the  Swift§  grew  lazy. 
The  Burns*|f  grew  cold,  the  Payne**  grew  easy. 
E'en  Cunniogham'sff  white  head  salutes 
The  High  Soled  man  in  Beaver's  Boots ! 

That  well  filled  vest  with  pride  displays 
The  guard-chain  red  of  other  days  ; 
That  unshaved,  honest  face  denotes 
A  Governor  stands  in  Beaver's  Boots  ! 


*  Henry  C.  Whitman,  a  leading  Democrat,  had 
lung,  lank,  Indian-like  hair  that  came  down  over  his 
-houlders  —  a  man  of  some  oratorical  power,  afterward 
H  judge. 

f  John  Graham,  a  Democrat,  with  a  beacon  light  in 
his  nose  if  not  in  his  head  which  gave  him  distinction. 

t  Andrew  Byers,  a  Democrat. 

||  Salmon  P.  Chase,  not  then  a  member  of  the  Sen 
ate,  but  canvassing  for  the  United  States  Senate. 

I  Lucian  Swift,  a  henchman  of  Chase. 

f  Barnabas  Burns. 

**  H.  B.  Payne,  a  prominent  Democrat,  afterward  in 
<  'ongress  from  Cuyahoga. 

ft  James  Cunningham,  a  Democrat,  prematurely 
grey. 

£t  Mr.  Beaver  was  regarded  the  leader  of  the  Whig 
party  in  the  Senate,  and  spoken  of  as  a  candidate  for  the 
governorship  of  Ohio.  The  last  line  ran  over  the  state 
like  a  prophesy  to  be  fulfilled  as  certainly  as  a  decree 
of  Fate. 


HANDSOME  MARY, 
THE  LILY  OF  THE  WEST. 


The  following  song  belongs  to  the  era  of  the  keel- 
boatman  on  the  Ohio  river  and  its  tributaries,  although 
It  is  sung  occasionally  at  this  day.  The  heroine  is  said 


THE   LILY  OF   THE    WEST.  413 


*Co  have  been  thedaught-er  of  a  clergyman  of  Lexing* 
ion.,  Kentucky  —  her  name,  Mary  Morrison,  on  account 
of  her  great  beauty  and  accomplishments,  styled  "The 
iBelle  of  Lexington  "  and  "The  Lily  of  the  West."  For 
some  unknown  .cause,  sfee  r;m  away  from  her  horne,and 
abandoned  herself  to  a  life  of  dissipation  in  Louisville. 
Here. »  young  man,  of  fine  address,  from  Ohio,  became 
«Miamored  of  her  charms,  and  madea  proposal  of  mar- 
triage  to  her.  She  accepted  him.  But  while  awaiting 
the  wedding-day,  he  became  aware  of  her  shameless, 
Hfe;  and  iu  a  moment  of  passion,  incident  wpon  meet 
ing  her  in  company  with  her  lover  for  the  nonoe,  he 
killed  hitii:  for  which  he  was  tried  for  murder  and  con 
victed;  and  while  in  prison  awaiting  the  day  of  execu 
tion,  he  composed  th-s.song  which  bears  her  name. 

For  all  which  and  the  song,  I  am  indebted  to  my 
.genial  friend  WMI.  H.  Morrow,  Esq.,  of  Man<jr, 


When  first  I  came   to   Louisville  some   pleasure 

there  to  find, 
A  damsel  fair  from   Lexington    was  pleasing  to 

my  mind. 
Her  cherry   cheeks  and    ruby   lips,   like   arrows 

pierced  my  breast,  — 
They  called   her  Handsome   Mary,   the   Lily    of 

the  West. 

I  courted  her  awhile,  in  hopes  her  love  to  gain, 
But  she   proved   false  to  me   which   caused   me 

much  pain. 
She   robbed  me  of   my   liberty,  deprived    me  of 

my  rest,  — 
They  called   her   Handsome   Mary,   the   Lily  of 

the  West. 

One   evening   as   I   rambled,   down   by    a   shady 

grove, 
I  saw  a  man  of  low   degree  conversing  with  my 

love. 
They  were  singing  songs  of  melody,  while  I  was 

sore  distressed, 
0  faithless,  faithless  Mary,  the  Lily  of  the  West ! 


414  THE   BOAT-HORN. 

I  stepped  up  to  my  rival,  my  dagger  in  my  hand. 
I  caught  him  by  the  collar,  and  boldly  bade  him 

stand ; 
Being  driven  to  desperation,  I  stabbed   him   in 

the  breast, 
But  was  betrayed  by  Mary,  the  Lily  of  the  West  ! 

At  length  the  day  of  trial  came,  I  boldly  made 

my  plea, 

But  the  judge  and  jury  they  soon  convicted  me. 
To  deceive  both  judge  and  jury  so  modestly  she 

dressed, 
And  there  she  swore   my  life  away,  the   Lily   of 

the  West. 


THE  BOAT-HORN. 


The  author  of  this  poem  was  William  Orlando  But 
ler,  a  son  of  Percival,  the  fourth  of  the  Butler  brothers, 
distinguished  in  the  annals  of  warfare  in  the  West. 
He  was  an  ensign  in  the  Second  United  States  Infantry 
in  the  War  of 'i'2,  and  made  a  prisoner  under  General 
Winchester  at  the  Battle  of  River  Raisin,  January  22nd, 


0  boatman  !  wind  that  horn  again  ; 

For  never  did  the  listening  air 

Upon  its  lambent  bosom  bear 

So  wild,  so  soft,  so  sweet  a  strain  — 

What  though  its  notes  are  sad  and  few, 

By  every  simple  boatman  blown, 

Yet  is  each  pulse  to  nature  true, 

And  melody  in  every  tone  1 

How  oft  in  boyhood's  joyous  day, 

Unmindful  of  the  lapsing  hours, 

I've  loitered  on  my  homeward  way 

By  wild  Ohio's  brink  of  flowers, 

While  some  lone  boatman,  from  the  deck, 


THE    BOAT-HORN.  415 

Poured  his  suft  numbers  to  that  tide, 

As  if  to  charm  from  storm  and  wreck 

The  boat  where  all  his  fortunes  ride ! 

Delighted  Nature  drank  the  sound, 

Enchanted  Echo  bore  it  round 

In  whispers  soft,  and  softer  still, 

From  hill  to  plain,  and  plain  to  hill ; 

Till  e'en  the  thoughtless,  frolic  boy, 

Elate  with  hope,  and  wild  with  joy. 

Who  gamboled  by  the  river  side, 

And  sported  with  the  fretting  tide, 

Feels  something  new  pervade  his  breast, 

Chain  his  light  step,  repress  his  jest, 

Bends  o'er  the  flood  his  eager  ear 

To  catch  the  sounds  far  off  yet  dear  — 

Drinks  the  sweet  draught,  but  knows  not  why 

The  tear  of  rapture  fills  his  eye. 

And  can  he  now,  to  manhood  grown, 

Tell  why  those  notes,  simple  and  lone, 

As  on  the  ravished  ear  they  fell, 

Bound  every  sense  in  magic  spell  ? 

There  is  a  tide  of  feeling  given 

To  all  on  earth,  its  fountain  Heaven. 

Beginning  with  the  dewy  flower, 

Just  oped  in  Flora's  vernal  bower  — 

Rising  creation's  orders  through 

With  louder  murmer,  brighter  hue  — 

That  tide  is  sympathy  !  its  ebb  and  flow 

Gives  life  its  hues  of  joy  and  woe. 

Music,  the  master  spirit  that  can  move 

Its  waves  to  war,  or  lull  them  into  love  — 

Can  cheer  the  sinking  sailor  'mid  the  wave, 

And  bid  the  soldier  on  !  nor  fear  the  grave  ; 

Inspire  the  fainting  pilgrim  on  the  road, 

And  elevate  his  soul  to  claim  his  Grod. 

Then  boatman  !  wind  that  horn  again  ! 

Though  much  of  sorrow  mark  its  strain, 

Yet  are  its  notes  to  sorrow  dear  ; 

What  though  they  wake  fond  memory's  tear ! 

Tears  are  sad  memory's  sacred  feast, 

And  rapture  oft  her  chosen  guest. 


416  THE    PENNSYLVANIA   LINE. 


—  1812  — 

THE  PENNSYLVANIA  LINE. 


Freemen  !  leave  eacfe  lovely  charmer  \ 
Round  our  sacred  standard  joio ; 

Haste  and  bu-ckle  o»  your  armor  — 
Form  the  Pennsylvania  Line  ! 

Pennsylvania,  famed  in  story, 
Of  our  federal  arch  the  key, 

Calls  her  sons  to  field®  of  glory,. 
There  to  die,  or  still  live  free. 

Arts  of  peace  must  now  knock  u»der  — 
Martial  ardor  bears  the  sway  — 

Hark  !  Bellona  calls  ii>  thunder 
To  the  battle  maicfe  away  f 

Haughty  Britain  long  assailed  us, 
Reckoning  on  our  passive  mood  ; 

But  at  length  our  patience  failed  usr 
Fired  is  now  our  Yar>kee  blood  ! 

Britain  and  her  saucy  minions, 

Freemen's  wrath  shall  quickly  know:. 

Freedom's  bird  on  sweeping  pionions 
Hurls  her  vengeance  OR  the  foe  t 

Shade  of  Wayne  \  from  blissful  regions. 
Dart  a  glance  of  tby  keen  eye  — 

View  thy  native  state's  brave  legions 
March  to  conquer  or  to  die ! 

Shade  of  Wayne  I  thy  matchless  spirit. 

Animates  ws  to  be  free  — 
Tars  and  soldiers  all  inherit 

Thy  undaunted  bravery. 

See  onr  aaval  stadard  flaring 

Proudly  orer  the  mountain  wave  ; 
'Graced  by  Biddle,  cool  and  daring. 
And  Decatur,  nobly  brave  ! 


JAMES   BIRD.  417 


View  again  our  war-clad  freemen, 
Marshaled  on  the  tented  plains ; 

Prompt  to  aid  our  gallant  seamen, 
Break  their  captive  brethren's  chains. 

Freedom's  cause  we  fondly  cherish, 
We'll  ne'er  fill  ignoble  graves : 

We  will  triumph,  or  we'll  perish, 
For  Columbians  can't  be  slaves  ! 

Haste  then,  comrades,  leave  each  charmer 
Round  our  sacred  standard  join  ; 

Haste  !  and  buckle  on  your  armor, 
Form  the  Pennsylvania  Line  ! 


—  1813  — 

THE  MOURNFUL    TRAGEDY   OF 
JAMES  BIRD. 


The  ballad  of  James  Bird  is  one  of  the  most  popular 
of  the  battle  songs  to  be  found  in  this  volume.  By  whom 
it  was  written,  I  have  not  been  able  to  learn;  nor  noth 
ing  more  about  the  unfortunate  deserter,  than  that  he 
belonged  to  the  Bird  family  of  Bedford,  Pennsylvania, 
and  that,  by  one  of  his  relatives,  his  remains  have  been 
removed  from  the  shore  of  Erie  to  commingle  with  the 
dust  of  his  kindred  in  the  cemetery  at  Bedford.  The 
stories  of  Bird  and  Sergeant  Trotter  —  see  page  111  —are 
con  founded  frequently.  A  burlesque  variation  of  this 
ballad  is  in  vogue  among  negro  minstrels. 


Sons  of  freedom,  listen  to  me  ! 

And,  ye  daughters,  too,  give  ear ! 
You  a  sad  and  mournful  story 

As  ever  was  told  shall  hear. 
Hull,  you  know,  his  troops  surrendered, 

And  defenceless  left  the  west ; 
Then  our  forces  quick  assembled, 

The  invaders  to  resist. 


•fIS  JAMES    BIRBv 


TMong  the  troops  that  inarched  to  Erie 

Were  the  Kingston  volunteers, 
Captain  Thomas  them  commanded, 

To  protect  our  west  fro  a tiers. 
Tender  were  the  scenes  of  parting, 

Mothers  wrung  their  hands  and  crie<fr 
31,-udens  wept  their  swains  in  secret, 

Fathers  strove  their  tears  to  hide. 

But  there's  one  among  the  number. 

Tall  and  graceful  is  his  mien, 
Firm  hia  step,  his  look  undaunted, 

Scarce  a  nobler  youth  was  seen  ; 
One  sweet  kiss  he  snatched  from  Mary, 

Craved  his  mother's  prayers  once  more, 
Pressed  his  father's  hand,  and  left  them7 

For  Lake  Erie's  distant  shore. 

Mary  tried  to  say,  "  Farewell,  James, " 

Waved  her  hand,  but  nothing  spoke ; 
"Good-bye,  Bird,  may  Heaven  protect  you/' 

From  the  rest  at  parting  broke. 
Soon  they  came  where  noble  Perry 

Had  assembled  all  his  fleet, 
There  the  gallant  Bird  enlisted, 

Hoping  soon  the  foe  to  meet. 

Where  is  Bird  ?  the  battle  rages  — 

Is  he  in  the  strife  or  no  ? 
Now  the  cannons  roar  tremendous, 

Dare  he  meet  the  hostile  foe? 
Aye,  behold  him  —  see  with  Perry 

In  the  self-same  ship  to  fight. 
Though  his  messmates  fall  around  him, 

Nothing  can  his  soul  affright. 

But,  behold,  a  ball  has  struck  him, 

See  the  crimson  current  flow, 
"Leave  the  deck,"  exclaimed  brave  Perry. 

"No,"  cried  Bird,  "  I  will  not  go; 


JAMES   BTRB. 

Here,  on  deck,  I  took  my  station, 
Ne'er  will  Bird  his  colors  fly  ; 

I'll  stand  by  you,  gallant  captam, 
Till  we  conquer  or  we  die.  " 


Still  be  fought,  though  faint  and    bleeding,, 

Till  our  stars  and  stripes  arose, 
Victory  having  crowned  our  efforts, 

All  triumphant  o'er  our  foes. 
And  did  Bird  receive  a  pension  ? 

Was  he  to  his  friends  restored  ! 
.No  —  nor  never  to  his  bosom, 

Clasped  the  maid  his  heart  adored. 

But  there  caoae  most  dreadful  tidings. 

From  Lake  Erie's  distant  shore, 
Better  if  poor  Bird  had  perished 

'Midst  the  battle's  awful  roar^ 
:<  Dearest  parents,  "  said  the  letter, 

"  This  will  bring  sad  news  to  you  ; 
But  do  not  mourn  your  first  beloved, 

Though  this  brings  his  lust  adieu  I 

*'  I  must  suffer  for  deserting 

From  the  brig  Niagara  ; 
Read  this  letter,  brothers,  sisters, 

'Tis  the  last  you'll  have  from  me.  '  ' 
Dark  and  gloomy  was  the  morning 

Bird  was  ordered  out  to  die  ; 
Where's  the  breast  not  dead  to  pity, 

But  for  him  would  heave  a  sigh  ? 

Lo  !  he  fought  so  brave  on  Erie, 

Freely  bled,  and  nobly  dared  ; 
Let  his  courage  plead  for  mercy, 

Let  his  precious  life  be  spared  ! 
See  him  march,  and  hear  his  fetters, 

Harsh  they  clank  upon  the  ear  ! 
But  his  step  is  firm  and  manly, 

For  his  heart  ne'er  harbored  fear. 


420  PERRY'S  VICTORY. 

See  !  he  kneels  upon  his  coffiu  ! 

Sure  his  death  can  do  no  good, 
Spare  him  —  hark  !  0  God,  they've  shot  him, 

See  !  his  bosom  streams  with  blood  ! 
Farewell,  Bird,  farewell  forever  ; 

Friends  and  home  he'll  see  no  more, 
For  his  mangled  corpse  lies  buried 

On  Lake  Erie's  distant  shore. 


—  1813  — 

PERRY'S  VICTORY. 

Ye  tars  of  Columbia,  give  ear  to  my  story, 

Who  fought  with   brave   Perry,  where  cannons 

did  roar ;  , 

Your  valor  has  gained  you  an  immortal  glory, 

A  fame  that  shall  last  until  time  is  no  more. 
Columbian  tars  are  the  true  sons  of  Mars, 

They  rake  fore  and  aft,  when  they  fight  on  the 

deep ; 

On  the  bed  of  Lake  Erie,  commanded  by  Perry, 
They  caused   many   Britons  to  take  their  last 
sleep. 

The  tenth  of  September,  let  us  all  remember, 

So  long  as  the  globe  on  her  axis  rolls  round ; 
Our  tars  and  marines,  on  Lake  Erie  were  seen, 

To  make  the  proud  flag  of  Great  Britain  come 

down. 
The  van  of  our  fleet,  the  British  to  meet, 

Commanded  by  Perry,  the  Lawrence  bore  down  ; 
Her  guns  they  did  roar  with  such  terrific  power, 

That  savages  trembled  at  the  dreadful  sound. 

The  Lawrence  sustained  a  most  dreadful  fire ; 
She   fought  three  to  one,   for  two  glasses  or 

more  ; 

While  Perry,  undaunted,  did  firmly  stand  by  her, 
The   proud   foe  on   her  heavy  broadsides  did 
pour. 


PERRV\S    VICTORY,  421 


Her  musts  being  shattered,  her  rigging  all  tattered, 
Her  b  IOLRS  and   her  yards  being  all  shut  away; 

And  Few  left  on  deck  to  manage  the  wreck, 
Oar  hero  on  board  her  11 )  longer  could  stay. 

In  this  situation,  the  pride  of  our  Ration 

Sure  [leaven  had  guarded  unhurt  all  the  while, 
While  ni  my  a  hero,  in  liutaining  his  station, 
Fell  close    by    his  side,  and    was  thrown  oil  the 

pile. 

iiut  mark  you,  aad   wonder,  when  elements  thun 
der, 
When   death  and  destruction   are  stalking   all 

round, 

His  flag  he  did  carry  on  board  the  Ni'gara  ; 
Such  valor  on  record  was  never  yet  found. 

There  is  one  gallant  act  of  our  noble  commander, 
While  writing  my  song,    I   must   notice    with 

pride ; 

While  launched  in  the  boat,  that  carried  the  stand 
ard, 
A  ball  whistled   through   her,  just  close  by  his 

side. 

*Says  Perry,   "  The  rascals  intend  for  to  drown  us, 
But  push  on,  my   brave   boys,   you  never  need 

fear !  " 

And  with  his  own  coat  he  plugged  up  the  boat, 
And  through   fire  and  sulphur   away    he  did 
steer. 

The  famed  Ni'gara,  now  proud  of  her  Perry, 

Displayed  all  her  banners  in  gallant  array  ; 
And  twenty-five  guns  on  her  deck  she  did  carry, 

Which  soon  put  an  end  to  this  bloody  affray  ; 
The  rear  of  our  fleet  was  brought  up  complete, 

The  signal  was  given  to  break  through  the  line  ; 
While  starboard   and   larboard,   and   from   every 
quarter, 

The  lamps  of  Columbia  did  gloriously  shine. 

The  bold  British  Lion  roared  out  his  last  thunder. 
When  Perry  attacked  him  close  in  the  rear ; 


422  PERRY'S  VICTORY. 


Columbia's  eagle  soon  made  him  crouch  under, 
And  roar  out  for  quarter,  as  soon  you  shall  hear. 

Oh,  had  you  been  there,  I  now  do  declare, 

You'd  have  seen  such   a    sight   ane'ers     you'd 
seen  before ; 

Six  red  bloody  flags,  that  no  longer  could  wag, 
All  lay  at  the  feet  of  our  brave  commodore. 

Brave  Elliot,  whose  valor  must  now  be  recorded. 
On  board  the  Ni'gara  so  well  played  his  part, 
His  gallant  assistance  to  Perry  afforded, 

We'll   place   him  the  second   on   Lake    Erie's 

chart. 
In  the  midst  of  the  battle,   when  guns  they    did 

rattle, 
The  Lawrence  a  wreck,  and   the  men  'most  all 

slain ; 

Away  he  did  steer,  and  brought  up  the  rear, 
And  by  this  manoeuvre  the  victory  was  gained. 

Oh,  had  you  but  seen  those  noble  commanders 

Embracing  each  other  when   the  conflict   was 

o'er ; 
And  viewing  all  those  invincible  standards, 

That  never  had  yielded  to  any  before. 
Says  Perry, "  Brave  Elliot,  give  me  your  hand,  sir ; 

This  day  we  have  gained  an  immortal  renown  ; 
So  long  as  Columbians  Lake  Erie  command,  sir, 

Let    brave    Captain    Elliot    with    laurels   be 
crowned. " 

Great  Britain  may  boast  of  her  conquering  heroes, 
Her  Rodneys,  her  Nelsons,  and  all  the  whole 

crew ; 
But  none  in  their  glory  have  told  such  a  story, 

Nor  boasted  such  feats  as  Columbians  do. 
The  whole  British  fleet  was  captured  complete, 

Not  one  single  vessel  from  us  got  away  ; 
And  prisoners  some  hundreds,  Columbians  won 
dered, 

To  see  them  all  anchored  and  moored  in  our 
bay. 


THE   VICTORY    ON    LAKE   ERIE.  423 

May   Heaven  still   smile  on  the  shades  of   our 

heroes 

Who  fought  in  that  conflict  their  country  to  save, 
And  check  the  proud  spirit  of  those  murdering 

bravoes, 

That  wish  to  divide  us  and  make  us  all  slaves. 
Columbians  sing,  and  make  the  woods  ring, 
We'll  toast  those  bave  heroes  by  sea  and  by 

land; 

While  Britons  drink  Sherry,   Columbians,   Perry, 
We'll  toast  him  about  with  a  full  glass  in  hand. 


THE  VICTORY  ON  LAKE  ERIE. 


Forever  remembered  be  the  gallant  story, 

How  valiant  Perry  with  Columbia's  crew, 
With  love  of  country  fired,  and  love  of  glory, 
Proud   Britain's  host  on  Erie's  lake  o'orthrew. 
He,  like  her  rocky  banks, 
Amidst  his  slaughtered  ranks 
Stood  firm,  no  fear  could  shake  his  soul ; 
Though  streams  of  blood 
Bushed  like  a  flood, 
And  thunders  shook  from  pole  to  pole. 

Hark  !  now  the  cannons  with  impetuous  roar, 

Deal  dread  destruction  from  the  unequal  foe, 
The  spirit  of  the  lake  sought  refuge  on  the  shore, 
And  for  the  fallen   brave  joined   in  Columbia's 
woe. 

And  now,  the  Lawrence  lost, 
On  Erie's  bosom  tossed, 
His  flag  alone  the  hero  saves ; 
As  thick  as  hail 
Their  shot  assail, 
Still  round  his  head  his  flag  he  waves. 

On  the  Niagara's  deck  now  see  him  bound  ! 

Now  mid  the  astonished  foe  his  course  he  steers, 
Now  dying  groans  —  now  victory's  shouts  resound  ! 

Now  panic  fear  amidst  their  ranks  appears ! 


424  THE    HERO    OF    ERIE, 


And  now  Columbia's  son 

The  gallant  fight  has  won  j 
For  see,  the  British  lion  cowers  ; 

Huzza  I  huzza  ! 

All  hail  the  day  ! 
"  We  have  met  the  enemy,  and  they  are  ours  f '" 


THE  HERO  OF  ERIE. 


To   Columbia's   loud   call  my    dear  William     re 
sponded, 

And  to  my  fond  arms  bade  a  tender  adieu, 
In  hope  to  return  with  the  laurels  of  glory, 

And  reap  all  the  fruits  of  affection  so  true. 

While   Fortune,   who  laughs  at   the  purpose  of 

mortals, 

Had  said  that  I  ne'er  should  behold  him  again; 
In   the  cold,    silent    grave,    my    sweet    William, 

neglected, 
Lies  far  from  his  love,  among  heaps  of  the  slain. 

When  bravely  he  fell,  in  the  front  of  the  battle. 
Contending  with   Britons  on  Erie's  dark  wave, 

0  !  had  I  been  there  to  expire  with  my  lover, 
Not  lived  thus  a  victim  of  woe  for  the  brave. 

Yet  cease,  my    poor,    widowed    heart,   from    thy 

wild  sorrow, 

A  few  years,  at  most,  shall  thy  William  restore; 
In  the  pure  land  of  heroes  with    transport  thou'lt 

join  him, 

Where  war  and  where  death  shall  divide  us  no 
more. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


20 


MAY     4   1948 


DEC    21953 


JAN  12  1951 


LIBRARY  USE 
AUG     5 

CIRCULATION 


RECEIVED 


C  NLY 


IE  85 


UEPT 


LD  21-100m-9,'47(A5702sl6)476 


YB  7742k 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


